'ffS 


C.  HADDON  CHAMBERS 

THE 
AWAKENING 


A  COMEDY    IN    FOUR    ACTS 


Walter  H.   Baker  6  Co.,   Boston 


THE  AMAZONS    ^^^^  ^  Three  Acts.    Seven  males,  five  females. 
Costumes,  modern  ;  scenery,  not  difficult.   Plays 
a  full  evening. 

THE  CABINET  MINISTER    f^rcem  Pour  Acts.   Ten  males,  nine 
females.  Costumes,  modern  society ; 
scenery,  three  interiors.    Plays  a  full  evening. 

DANDY  DICE    ^^^'^  ^  Three  Acts.    Se^en  males,  four  females. 
Costumes,  modern ;  scenery,  t\?o  interiors.    Plays 
two  hours  and  a  half. 

THE  fiAY  LORD  ODEX    ^^^^^^^^^y^^o^-^cts.    Four  males,  ten 
"  females.    Costumes,  modern ;  scenery, 

two  interiors  and  an  exterior.    Plays  a  full  evening. 

HIS  HOUSE  IN  ORDER    comedy  in  Four  Acts.   Nine  males,  four 
MRVvt^H  lii  VAVi^n    females.    Costumes,  modern ;  scenery, 
three  interiors.    Plays  a  full  evening. 

THE  HOBBY  HORSE    ^^^^^  ^  Three  Acts.    Ten  males,  five 
females.  Costumes,  modern;  scenery  easy. 
Plays  two  hours  and  a  half. 

IRIS    I^^^'"'^*^  Fi^Q-^cts.    Seven  males,  seven  females.    Costumes, 
modem ;  scenery,  three  interiors.    Plays  a  full  evening. 

LADY  BOUNTIFUL    ^^^  ^  ^^^^  '^°***    ^^^*  males,  seven  fe- 
males.    Costumes,  modern ;  scenery,  four  in- 
teriors, not  easy.    Plays  a  full  evening. 

LFTTY    ^'^™*  ^  Four  Acts  and  an  Epilogue.    Ten  males,  five  fe- 
^  males.    Costumes,  modem ;  scenery  complicated.    Plays  a 

full  evening 


Sent  prepaid  on  receipt  of  price  by 

Waltn  ^.  QBafeer  &  Company 

No.  5  Hamilton  Place,  Boston,  Massachusetts 


THE    ^AWAKENING 


Digitized  by  the  Internet  Archive 

in  2007  with  funding  from 

IVIicrosoft  Corporation 


http://www.archive.org/details/awakeningplayinfOOchamrich 


THE  AWAKENING 


a  piag  in  jFour  ^cts 


BY 

C.  HADDON  CHAMBERS 


All  rights  reserved  under  the  International  Copyright  Act, 
Performance  forbidden,  and  right  of  representation  reserved. 
Application  for  the  right  of  performing  the  above  piece  must 
be  made  to  Charles  Frohman,  Empire   Theatre,  New   York. 


BOSTON: 
WALTER  H.  BAKER  &  CO. 


THE  AWAKENING. 


COPYBIGHT,   1903,   BY  "WALTER  H.   BAKER  &  CO. 

All  rights  reserved. 


PLEASE  READ  CAREFULLY. 
The  acting  rights  of  this  play  are  reserved  by  the 
author.  Performance  is  strictly  forbidden  unless  his 
express  consent,  or  that  of  his  representatives,  has 
first  been  obtained,  and  attention  is  called  to  the  pen- 
alties provided  by  law*  for  any  infringements  of  his 
rights,  as  follows  :  -  - 

•''  Seg.  4906:  —  *  ry  person  publicly  performing  or  representing 
;*^t?y;draii(»a';i<;  or  rarsical  coiiipositiqin  for  Avhich  copyright  has  been 
'  oKMned,  without  th?  cors-ent  cf  +ke  proprietor  of  said  dramatic  or 
musical  composition,  or  his  heirs  and  assigns,  shall  be  liable  for 
damages  therefor,  snch  damages  in  all  cases  to  be  assessed  at  such 
sum,  not  less  than  one  hundred  dollars  for  the  first  and  fifty  dollars 
for  every  subsequent  performance,  as  to  the  court  shall  appear  to 
be  just.  If  the  unlawful  performance  and  representation  be  wilful 
and  for  profit,  such  person  or  persons  shall  be  guilty  of  a  misde- 
meanor, and  upon  conviction  be  imprisoned  for  a  perio.d  not  exceed- 
ing one  year."— U.  S.  Revised  Statutes,  Title  60,  Chap.  3. 


PERSONS   CONCERNED 

Mr.  James  St.  John  Trower,  Private  Secretary  to 
the  Foreign  Secretary  (35). 

Mr.  Cecil  Bird  (24). 

Lord  Reginald  Dugdalb  (40). 

Jarvis,  Trower's  Butler. 

The  Countess  of  Warristor  (4oy. 

Miss  Prescott  (30). 

Mrs.  Herbertson  (34). 

The  Lady  Margaret  Staines  (26). 

Miss  Olive  Lawrence  (22). 

Mrs.  Selby  (60). 


Period— 1901. 


4oin.«^fi 


ORIGINAL   CAST  OF 

''THE  AWAKENING" 

Mr.  James  St.  John  Trower     .  Mr.  George  Alexander. 

Mr.  Cecil  Bird Mr.  A.  E.  MATTHEWS. 

Lord  Reginald  Dii^dale  .     .    .  Mr.  H.  B.  Irving. 

Jarvis, Mr.  H.  H.  VincenT. 

Butler ...'....,.  Mr.  R.  E.  Goddard. 

The  Countess  of  Warristor  .    .  MRS.  Kemmis. 

Miss  Prescott MiSS  GRANVILLE. 

Mrs.  Herhertson MiSS  JuLlE  Opp. 

Mrs.  Sdhy MiSS  M.  TALBOT. 

The  Lady  Margaret  Staines     .  MiSS  GERTRUDE  KINGSTON. 

Miss  Olive  Lawrence  ....  MiSS  Fay  Davis. 


INTRODUCTORY  NOTE. 


**  The  Awakening,"  the  second  of  Mr.  C.  Haddon  Cham- 
bers plays  to  be  offered  to  the  American  reading  public, 
parallels  its  predecessor  in  the  admirable  technical  quali- 
ties of  construction,  of  adroit  selection  and  presentation 
of  character,  and  fortunate  choice  of  incident,  in  its  free- 
dom from  merely  theatrical  expedients,  its  frequent  wit 
and  abundant  woof  of  humor,  that  comes  to  the  surface 
of  his  story  whenever  his  fabric  will  permit.  But  it  walks 
wide  of  the  other  in  the  choice  of  its  subject,  which  dips 
far  deeper  into  the  pool  of  human  life  and  brings  up 
stranger  things. 

In  "The  Tyranny  of  Tears,"  Mr.  Chambers  was  con- 
tent to  merely  shave  human  nature,  with  delightful  neat- 
ness and  despatch,  to  the  sole  and  commendable  end  of 
making  it  festally  presentable;  and  the  success  of  his 
literary  barbering  in  the  theatre  answered  accurately  to 
its  great  merit.  In  its  adroit,  unhackneyed  and  satisfying 
treatment  of  the  commonplace  it  demanded  for  him  a 
station  high  amonghis  fellow-craftsman,  for  it  is  the  privi- 
lege of  the  very  highest  rank  alone  to  give  the  accolade 
of  distinction  to  the  humble  and  unconsidered. 

So  assured  a  thing  is  Mr.  Chambers'  preferment  that  he 
must  not  be  rashly  blamed  for  throwing  off  the  mask  with 
an  easy  confidence,  after  the  manner  of  surely  seated 
tyrants  of  all  time,  and  showing  to  his  subjugated  public 
a  frown  in  place  of  the  smiling  subservience  with  which 
he  won  them.  This  is  only  human,  after  all,  and  cannot 
be  too  harshly  rebuked.  But  it  may  be  respectfully  pointed 
out  that,  in  '*  The  Awakening,"  shaving  has  given  place 


Vlll  INTKODUCTOUr    NOTE. 

to  surgery,  and  that  our  author  now  draws  blood.  It  is 
minor  surgery,  perhaps,  and  looks  forward  to  no  possi- 
bility, even,  of  a  tragic  event,  but  it  is  a  more  serious 
business  than  of  old,  goes  deeper  into  life,  and  sets  us 
thinking  of  matters  beneath  the  pleasant  surface  that  he 
has  so  successfully  illustrated  elsewhere. 

"  The  Awakening  "  concerns  itself  with  a  crisis  in  the 
life  of  Mr.  James  St.  John  Trower,  a  general  practitioner 
in  sentiment,  who  during  a  long  and  industrious  career  of 
love-making,  has  sedulously  avoided  the  narrowing  and 
confining  influences  that  necessarily  cramp  the  efforts  of 
the  specialist  who  may  devote  himself  to  one  woman  only. 
He  is  described  as  a  "  Juggernaut  in  trousers,"  by  an 
acute  if  hyperbolical  critic  of  his  conduct,  and  is,  in  fact, 
that  generally  reprobated  personage,  a  male  flirt. 

It  is  a  curious  fact  that  goes  far  to  rob  the  privilege  of 
being  a  "lord  of  creation"  of  much  of  its  attractiveness 
that  while  a  coquette  may  serve  the  ends  of  the  drama 
without  disaster,  and  may  even  contribute  by  her  heartless 
conduct  to  swell  the  sum  of  merriment  in  comedy  without 
endangering  the  happy  ending  so  beloved  of  theatre-goers, 
the  introduction  of  a  male  trifler  into  the  affairs  of  the 
stage  straightway  leads  to  trouble.  It  is  thus  Trower' s  sex 
rather  than  his  conduct  that  makes  it  difficult  to  describe 
"The  Awakening"  as  a  comedy  and  quenches  its  other- 
wise gaiety  with  tears.  He  is  neither  as  unusual  nor  as 
contemptible  a  type  as  it  is  the  fashion  to  regard  him, 
nor  can  he  fail  to  awaken  a  sneaking  sympathy  in  the 
minds  of  the  large  number  of  men  who  have  neither 
undergone  the  vaccination  of  a  serious  attachment  nor 
incurred  the  artificial  responsibilities  of  matrimony.  To  all 
such  this  somewhat  unsympathetic  hero  will  appeal  in  a 
sneaking  fashion,  and  not  in  vain,  even  if  the  sympathy 


INTRODUCTORY   NOTE.  ix 

may  not  be  expressed.  With  all  others  the  unfortunate 
protagonist  must  fight  a  losing  fight  for  three  acts  and 
gain  at  the  end  little  more  than  a  drawn  battle  with  their 
sympathies.  Yet  apart  from  his  unfortunate  sentimental 
automatism,  he  is  not  a  bad  fellow,  who  has  "never  lied 
to  a  man  in  his  life,"  and  who  would  never  have  lied  to 
women,  had  not  their  hasty  and  unexpected  deductions 
from  his  words  forced  this  repugnant  expedient  upon 
his  good  nature. 

Trower  is  singularly  unfortunate,  as  heroes  go,  in  having 
to  perpetrate  his  enormities  of  conduct  upon  two  women 
of  quite  unusual  charm  if  of  widely  different  character. 
Had  he  trifled  with  less  valuable  human  material,  less 
coveted  by  other  males  in  that  inevitable  process  of  identi- 
fication that  gives  the  drama  zest,  he  might  have  come  out 
better.  For  every  man  that  really  loves  his  theatre  p?.ays 
every  part  vicariously,  being  thus  cheaply  brave,  beautiful, 
generous,  noble  or  self-sacrificing,  so  long  as  the  matter  is 
flattering  or  in  agreement  with  his  tastes,  but  instantly 
critical  and  free  of  the  author's  yoke  when  it  is  no  longer 
so.  This  point,  upon  which  slenderly  but  securely  spins 
the  popularity  of  the  acted  drama,  presses  painfully  upon 
Trower,  hopelessly  enslaved  by  the  text.  For  both  Lady 
Margaret  Staines  and  Olive  Lawrence,  the  latter  played  in 
the  original  production  by  an  American,  Miss  Fay  Davis,  are 
drawn  with  quite  unusual  charm  and  presented  at  the  criti- 
cal point  of  the  play  in  a  scene  of  quite  exceptional  poig- 
nancy. Nothing  less  than  a  miracle  can  extenuate  the 
man  whose  conduct  brought  about  the  fairly  brutal  situa- 
tion at  the  end  of  Act  III,  and  Trower' s  later  apology, 
while  effective  in  itself,  cannot  be  regarded  as  ample  when 
looked  at  fairly  down  the  long  perspective  of  the  whole 
play. 


X  INTRODUCTORY    NOTE. 

To  the  catholic  lover  of  human  nature  "The  Awaken- 
ing" presents  an  interesting  and  effective  combination  of 
character;  to  the  more  or  less  conventional  thealre-goeronly 
is  it  repugnant  to  see  a  hero  that  is  unheroic,  for  nothing 
is  more  cordially  disapproved  and  hated  by  this  steadfast 
supporter  of  the  drama  than  his  own  particular  traits  and 
weaknesses  —  whenever  he  is  not  obliged  to  recognize  them 
as  his  own.  So  far  as  abundant  humor,  graceful  and  vigor- 
ous dialogue,  fresh  and  interesting  types  of  supplementary 
character,  and  adroit  employment  of  them  can  divert  at- 
tention from  this  halting  protagonist,  Mr.  Chambers  has 
protected  him  ;  but  like  the  eloquent  and  able  advocate  of 
a  losing  cause,  he  gains  more  admiration  for  himself  than 
mercy  for  his  client. 

This  play  was  first  produced  in  London  at  the  St. 
James's  Theatre,  on  February  6th,  1901,  under  the  man- 
agement of  Mr.  George  Alexander.  The  following  note, 
by  the  author,  regarding  its  first  production,  will  be  read 
with  keen  interest. 

"  '  The  Awakening'  was  presented  at  the  saddest  period 
in  recent  English  history.  Mr.  George  Alexander,  the 
manager,  and  Mr.  Haddon  Chambers,  the  author,  were 
beginning  to  conduct  a  dress  rehearsal  of  the  play  when 
word  came  in  that  the  illness  of  Her  Majesty  Queen 
Victoria  had  taken  a  very  serious  turn.  The  rehearsal  was 
immediately  abandoned  out  of  respect  to  the  beloved 
Queen,  and  two  hours  later  the  Empire  was  thrown  into 
unprecedented  grief  by  the  announcement  that  Her 
Majesty  was  dead. 

'•Four  days  after  the  great  Queen's  funeral,  'The 
Awakening '  was  produced.  The  entire  house  was  of 
course  in  the  deepest  mourning.  It  was  the  first  new  play 
in  the  English  language  produced  under  the  reign  of  King 


INTRODUCTORY   NOTE.  XI 

Edward  VII,  and  the  first  new  play  of  the  Twentieth  Cen- 
tury. The  principal  parts  were  performed  by  Mr.  George 
Alexander,  Miss  Fay  Davis,  Miss  Gertrude  Kingston,  Miss 
Charlotte  Granville,  Mr.  C.  F.  Mathews,  Mr.  H.  B.  Irving, 
Julie  Opp,  and  Mr.  Vincent.  The  play  was  very  en- 
thusiastically received,  and  was  critically  and  apprecia- 
tively reviewed  in  the  press.  In  "  The  Awakening  "  there 
is  no  question  of  "a  problem,"  but  there  is  a  very  serious 
lesson.  There  are  many  St.  John  Trowers  in  the  world, 
and  to  most  of  them,  perhaps,  no  awakening  ever  comes, 
but  he  would  surely  be  a  hard  man  who  could  live  through 
the  scenes  with  Olive  Lawrence  and  Lady  Margaret 
Staines  drawn  so  uncompromisingly  in  the  play  without 
having  the  eyes  of  his  soul  opened  to  a  just  view  of  self 
indulgence,  and  the  indifiference  to  the  wound  inflicted 
upon  the  hearts  of  others  which  have  marked  the  conduct 
of  his  life." 

F.  E.  Chase. 
Dec.  271h,  1902. 


THE  AWAKENING 


ACT  I 

Scene. — Trower's  rooms.  A  drawing-Toom^  charm- 
ingly  done — Louis  XV.  A  door  up  L.C.  leads 
to  staircase.  Door  C.  leads  to  another  room. 
Door  R.  leads  to  bedroom.  It  is  evening,  after 
dinner.  Cigarettes,  matches,  spirit  stand,  and  soda 
water,  ^c,  on  L.  table. 

\0n  curtain  Hsing,  Lord  Keginald  Dugdale, 
Miss  Prescott,  Cecil  Bird,  and  Mrs. 
Herbertson  are  playing  Bridge,  Mrs.  H. 
and  Bird  are  partners,  and  tJie  former, 
whose  partner  has  mxide  trumps,  is  playing 
the  two  hands.  The  play  is  silent  for  a  few 
moments.  Miss  P.  brightens  up  consider- 
ably, and  plays  in  a  rapid  and  determined 
way.  Lord  E..  watches  her  play.  Oecii* 
hesitates  before  playing. 


Miss  P. 

\To  Bird.]     Don't  ruminate,  Cecil.     Play   your 
ace.     You  can't  take  it  to  heaven  with  you. 

[Bird  plays.   Miss  P.  ylaysfrom  Reggie's 
hand   third,    Mrs.    H.  plays  fourthy 


3  THE  A  WAKENING 

Miss  P.  fahes  the  trick.  One  more  round 
is  played  in  the  same  order^  completing 
the  hand. 

Mrs.  H. 
Cecil  loves  to  hug  his  aces. 

Bird. 

Cecil  worries  along  quite  well  at  Bridge,  thank 
you  all  for  kind  solicitude. 

Lord  R. 

[Goes  hack  to  his  seat.^  Three  hearts,  partner,  and 
I  had  three  honours.  Twenty-four  below  and  six- 
teen above — that's  game — game  all. 

[He  marks.    Miss  P.  gathers  cards  up  and 
makes  them. 

Bird. 

[Also  marking.^  Cecil  made  enough  last  week  at 
the  game  to  pay  all  going  about  expenses. 

[Miss  P.  cuts  for  Bird. 

Mrs.  H. 

Such  as  cabs,  tips,  button-holes,  eh  ? 

Bird. 

[Dealing  ca7'ds.'\  No,  not  buttonholes — ^my  florist 
has  faith.  Cabs,  tips,  and  laundry.  Cabmen,  ser- 
vants, and  laundresses  have  no  faith,  and  so  Bridge 
becomes  a  blessing  to  the  very  poor. 

[Finished  dealing ^  all  take  cards  up  and 
sort  them. 


THE  A  WAKENING 


Miss  P. 


Did  you  ever  wake  up  in  the  middle  of  the  night 
and  remember  you  had  forgotten  to  mark  "  chicane  **  ? 

Bird. 

Rather,  it's  horrid !    [Pause  and  look  through  cards.  ] 
No  trumps ! 

[Reggie  plays  a  card,  Mes.  H.  lays  hera 
on  table. 

Miss  P. 
Of  course. 

Bird. 
One  has  to  play  the  game. 

Lord  R, 
Shall  I  play,  partner? 

Miss  P. 

Please.     I  call  it  a  mean,  grasping  game  to  make 
it  notories  every  time.     Jim — Jim — 

[Trowee  enters  C. 

Trower. 
[By  Miss  P.]  What  can  I  do  for  anybody  ? 

Miss  P. 
I  ask  you  to  look  at  these  cards. 

Trower. 
Most  uncheerful.  [All  laugh. 


4  THE  A  WAKENING 

Miss  P. 

You  wouldn't  laugh  if  you  had  sat  like  a  stuck  pig 
behind  the  cards  I've  held  to-night. 

Mrs.  H. 
I  hope  you've  something  to  call  no  trumps  on. 

[Bird  passes  his  cards  to  Mse.  H.  ;  she 
looks  throwjh  thfi^m,  and  hands  them 
back.  Reggie  leads.  Bird  follows 
from  Mrs.  H.'s  handy  which  is  spread 
on  table.  The  play  goes  on  in  silence. 
The  tricks  each  time  are  gathered  by 
Miss  P. 

Mrs.  H. 

[After  sixth  hand.]  There,  you  see,  we're  caught 
in  spades.     Really,  Cecil,  it's  too  tiresome  of  you. 

[One  more  round  played  in  silence. 

Miss  P. 
Bravo,  partner !     How  many  is  that  t 

Reggib. 
Seven. 

Miss  P. 

I  think  we  can  give  them  the  rest, 

Trower. 

[Who  can  see  Mrs.  H/s  hand.]  Yes,  the  rest  are 
theirs.  [  The  hands  are  thrown  dotvn. 


THE  A  WAKENING  5 

Lord  R. 
[Marking.]  Twelve  below,  and  honours? 

Miss  P. 

[Promptly.]  Easy. 

BiBD. 

It  afflicts  me  to  contradict  you,  Miss  Prescott, 
but  I  had  two  aces  and  my  partner  had  one. 

Lord  B>. 

[Marking.]  Thirty  above. 

[Mrs.  H.  cuts  to  Reggie.    Bird  marks. 

Miss  P. 
Smile,  Cecil,  smile. 

Mrs.  H. 

[Crossly.]  I  wish  he  wouldn't  play  such  an  asi- 
nine game  when  I'm  his  partner. 

Miss  P. 
Smile,  Cecil. 

[Lord  R.  dealSf  Trower  moves  down  L. 
of  table,  and  stands  below  it — between 
Reggie  and  Cecil. 

Miss  P. 
I  do  love  a  cheerful  loser. 

Bird. 

Very  dear  and  charming  lady,  I*m  not  quite  sure 
that  you  are  sound  on  the  question  of  cheerful 
losing. 


6  THE  A  WAKENING 

Miss  P. 
What  ?     Reggie,  am  I  a  good  loser  ?     I  ask  you. 

Reggie. 
The  best  in  the  world. 

Miss  P. 

I  really  think  I  am,  considering  I  have  only  a 
miserable  sixteen  hundred  a  year,  every  penny  of 
which  goes  on  my  back.  [Laughter  from  hack  room.'] 
What  is  Margaret  doing,  Jim  ? 

[Enter  Jarvis  L.,  with  two  packs  of  cards 
on  small  tray.  He  moves  down  to  L. 
table  J  on  which  he  places  cards. 

Trower. 

Playing  Lady  Warristor  Ja,  match  at  double  dummy, 
and,  as  usual,  losing  everything  but  her  temper. 

Miss  P. 

Margaret!  She  is  never  cross  with  any  one  but 
me. 

Trower. 

The  privilege  of  one's  best  friend  1 

Jarvis. 

Can  I  speak  to  you  for  a  moment,  sir  ? 

[Jarvis  airanges  spirit-stand  on  tdble^  then 
gives  Trower  a  look.  Trower  goes  to 
him  L.C.,  helow  L.  couch. 


THE  A  WAKENING  7 

Jarvis. 

[Below  L.  sofa.]  A  young  lady  called  and  asked 
for  you  just  now,  sir. 

Trower. 
A  young  lady — most  unusuaL 

Jarvis. 
[Discreetly.]  Yes,  sir. 

Trowbr, 
What  name  did  she  give  ? 

Jarvis. 

None,  sir.  She  asked  if  you  were  alone,  and 
when  I  said  you  had  friends,  she  said  it  didn't 
matter,  and  drove  away  in  her  cab. 

Trower. 
What  was  she  like,  Jarvis  ? 

[The  players  gather  and  sort  their  cards, 

Jarvis. 

Most  becoming  young  lady,  sir.  I'm  sure  it  wasn't 
a  charity  case. 

Trower. 
Dark  or  fair  ? 

Jarvis. 
Dark,  sir — and  very  pleasing. 


8  THE  A  WA  KENING 

Teower. 
Thank  you,  Jarvia 

Miss  P. 

[Looking  at  her  cards  in  disgust."]  Oh — oh — oh! 
Jim,  come  here!     [Shows  her  cards.']     Now  I  ask 

you 

[Trower  goes  up  to  R.  of  her. 

Lord  R. 
[Firmly.]  Partner,  I  make  it  hearts. 

[Jarvis  exits  L. 

Miss  P. 

[In  despair.]  And  he  makes  it  hearts.  No,  really, 
I  could  not  play — it  makes  me  too  nervous.  Take 
them,  somebody  1 

[Rises,  and  hangs  cards  on  table.    Tbower, 
who  is  on  her  R.,  takes  them. 

Trower. 
[Soothingly.]  But  your  hand  goes  down. 

[Mrs.  H.  leads  a  cardy  Trower  puts  hi» 
down  on  table. 

Miss  P. 

[Leainn^  her  chxtir^  moves  up  0.]  I  don't  care 
whether  it  goes  down  or  up.  It's  too  disgusting! 
I  couldn't  take  a  trick — my  highest  card's  a  ten. 
You  play  it  for  me,  or  put  it  down,  or  throw  it 


THE  A  WAKENING  9 

out  of  tbe  window.     I'm  far  too  nervous.     I'll  pay 
when  the  score's  made  up — I  loathe  the  game. 

\Red  and  flurried  she  gets  away  C.  from 
Trower,  and  goes  into  the  other  room 
C.  2'he  others  watch  her  exit.  Troweb 
takes  Miss  P.'s  place  in  the  game. 

Bird. 
Keally,  that  dear  lady's  temper 

Lord  R, 
Temper !     Konsense !     Play. 

[REGGIE  plays  a  card  from  Trower's  hand, 
Cecil  plays  second  after  Reggie  says 
Flay,  Reggie  thirdy  Mrs.  H.  fourth, 
Trower  picks  up  tricks,  Reggie  leads 
each  time. 

Trower. 
[After  third  hand.]  No  diamonds,  partner. 

Lord  R. 
Ko  diamonds  1 

Mrs.  H. 
How  dull! 

Bird. 
I  call  it  beastly  luck  ! 

[Flay  proceeds  till  Lord  R.  throws  down 
last  six  cards. 

Trower. 
Excellent! 

Bird. 

[Crossly. 1  Simply  beastly ! 


lO  THE  A  WA  KENINQ 


Lord  R. 


Three  hearts,  twenty-four  ;  game  and  rubber — 
and  four  honours  in  one  hand — sixt}  -four  above. 

\hlake8  up  score  and  account. 
[Pause.     Bird  also  makes  up  account^ 
Tbower  and  Mrs.  H.  looking  on. 

Bird. 
What  do  you  make  it,  Lord  Reginald? 

Lord  R. 

A  hundred  and  eighty-four  points  —  forty-six 
shillings ;  and  a  pound   the   rubber — three  pounds 

six 

Bird. 

That's  it — it  ruins  my  average  for  the  week  ;  you 
may  say  what  you  like,  but  Miss  Prescott's  temper 
is  enough  to  spoil  any  game. 

Lord  R. 
[Rise,  and  drag  chair  over  to  R.  table  and  ^t.\ 
Miss  Prescott  is  always  delightful  1 

Mrs.  H. 
[Rise,  and  cross  at  hack  and  down  to  L.  sofa.'\  111 
settle  with  you  at  lunch  to-morrow,  Reggie. 

Lord  R. 
Whenever  you  like,  dear  friend. 

Bird. 
[Who  is  adding  figures  in  a  little  hook."]  Oh,  bother! 

Trower. 
What's  the  matter,  Cecil  ? 


THE  A  WAKENING  II 

Bird. 

I  foresee  a  week  of  self -denial, 

Trower. 

Start  it  witli  a  whisky  and  soda. 

\At  apirit'Stand. 
[Mrs.  H.  is  down  at  couch  L.     Trower 
crosses  to   back  of  L.C.  couch.     Bird 
rises  and  moves  to  R.  of  card-table. 

Bird. 

No,  thanks.  [Closes  his  book.]  Eight  pounds 
seven  and  six  the  wrong  side  of  the  week. 

Lord  R. 
[Yawning.']  Poor  old  man! 

Bird. 

[Sits  on  edge  of  card-table.]  No  small  luxuries 
next  week — no  self-indulgences — no  pleasant  little 
sins. 

Mrs.  H. 

No  riding  in  cabs. 

Bird. 

No,  no  cabs!  I  can't  ride  in  'buses  because  I 
look  out  of  place,  and  I  can't  walk  because  I  have  a 
corn. 

Lord  R. 

Is  papa  still  obdurate  ? 

Bird. 
Papa  is  a  beast  I 


12  THE  A  WAKENING 

Lord  R. 

You  shouldn't  say  that.  I  remember  my  dear 
old  father — the  best  that  ever  lived — [Reggie  takes 
a  cigarette  and  lights  it.  Bird  makes  a  grimace 
and  goes  u]>  C,  a  qvick  exit  into  the  other  rooni] 
— saying  to  me  once— bless  me,  I  can  see  him 
now — you  never  met  the  old  man,  did  you  ? — [Leans 
hackf  thinking  Bird  is  still  there.'] — I  say,  you 
never  met — \_Looks  round,  rises  and  folloios  Cecil 
off,  saying^ — I  say,  you  never  met  the  old  man, 
did  you  % 

[Goes  out  slowly  after  Bird,  0. 

Trower. 
[To  Mrs.  H.]  Shall  we  make  up  another  rubber? 

Mrs.  H. 

[On  L.  couch."]  No,  I  shall  have  to  go  on  to 
the  Fullboroughs  in  a  few  moments.  Smoke! 
[Trower  takes  cigarette  from  L.  table.]  Sit  and  talk 
to  me,  and  try  not  to  look  so  hlase.  How  long  it  is 
since  we  have  been  alone  together  I 

Trower. 

[Sits  C]  I  assure  you,  my  dear  Edith,  that 
beastly  Foreign  Office — 

Mrs.  H. 

Nothing  could  wound  me  so  much  as  an  excuse 
from  you,  Jim. 


THE  A  WAKENING  13 

Trower. 

Of  course.  Anyway,  you  know  the  Chief,  and 
can  imagine  that  since  this  African  trouble — 

Mrs.  H. 
His  lordship  is  fortunate  in  his  private  secretary. 

Trower. 

One  tries,  and  of  course  it's  enormouslj  inter- 
esting— 

Mrs.  H. 

You've  not  lost  your  ambition  ? 

Trower. 

No,  I  think  I  shall  go  on  all  right. 

Mrs.  H. 

Some  day  I  shall  look  up  to  you  from  afar  and 
say,  "  There  is  the  great  man  with  whom  I  once  had 
a  sweet  friendship." 

Trower. 

iWWh.  a  light  laugh.']  But  why  the  distance? 

Mrs.  H. 
Because  a  breach  either  closes  or  widens. 

Trower. 
My  dear  Edith,  you  alarm  me.    Is  there  a  breach  9 

Mrs.  H. 
I  used  to  see  you  at  least  once  a  week. 


H  THE  AWAKENING 

Trower. 

This  wretched  war —  The  truth  is,  I  have  been 
nowhere  lately. 

Mrs.  H. 
Bruton  Street,  for  eicample? 

Trower. 

\With  affected  thoughtfulness.']  Bruton  Street, 
Bruton  Street,  let  me  see — who's  in  Bruton  Street  ? 

Mrs.  H. 

[Imitating  him.]  Yes — who  is  in  Bruton  Street? 
How  provoking ! 

Trower. 

There's  old  Admiral  Golding. 

Mrs.  H. 

Yes,  and  the  Martin eaus  at  207 — and — and  Lady 
Staines  at  103.     [Sweetly.]     Dear  Margaret — 

Trower. 

Ah !  now  I  remember,  I  did  call  on  Margaret  one 
day. 

Mrs.  H. 

Then  your  brougham  has  been  even  more  de- 
voted. Three  times  this  week  these  eyes  have  seen 
it  at  Margaret's  door. 

Trower. 
My  dear  Edith,  you  must  have —  [Rise. 


THE  AWAKENING  15 

Mrs.  H. 

[Interrupting  quickly.]  Watched  you?  No! 
[Slight  pause.]  You  know  I  couldn't  have  done 
that  sort  of  thing  even  if  my  interest  in  you  had 
been  much  greater.     Say  you're  sorry. 

[He  goes  to  her  and  sits  with  her 
on  couch. 

Trower. 
I  am  sorry,  very. 

[Sits  by  her  on  couch. 

Mrs.  H. 
It's  only  a  matter  of  having  eyes. 

Trower. 
I  always  admired  yours. 

Mrs.  H. 
Naturally.     And  a  dressmaker. 

Trower. 
Explain. 

Mrs  H. 

The  lady  who  is  graciously  pleased  to  make  my 
frocks — 

Trower.    • 

I  have  recollections  of  Paris. 

[He  is  about  to  take  her  hand,  but 
she  quickly  removes  it, 

Mrs.  H. 

Foolish  person.  I'm  speaking  of  simple  summer 
frocks.     Well,  the  lady  in  question  lives  in  Sack- 


i6  THE  A  WAKENING 

ville  Street,  and  my  coachman  thinks  the  way  from 
Sackville  Street  to  Sussex  Square — I  live  there,  as 
you  used  to  know — is  by  Bond  Street  and  Bruton 
Street — but  no  doubt  you've  studied  the  map. 

Trower. 

Then  I  may  consider  myself  convicted  of  the  mild 
dissipation  of  afternoon  calls.     What  next  ? 

Mrs.  H. 

Only  that  you  ought  to  have  called  on  me  occa- 
sionally, all  the  same,  we  were  such  pals. 

Trower, 
I'll  come  to-morrow  afternoon. 

Mrs.  H. 
I  shall  not  be  at  home  to  you. 

Trower. 
That  is  particularly  horrid  of  you. 

Mrs.  H. 

I  shall  allow  you  to  do  nothing  that  could  pain 

Margaret. 

Trower, 


Mrs.  H. 
That  is  my  revenge  on  her. 

Troweb. 
For  what? 

Mrs.  H. 

For  having  robbed  me  of  my  dear  friend. 


THE  A  WAKENING  17 

Trower. 

But,  my  dear  Edith,  Margaret  is  nothing  more  to 
me  than  a  friend — as  you  are. 

Mrs.  H. 
Oh,  Jim, 

Trower. 

Edith,  I  give  you  my  word. 

Mrs.  H. 
Don't.    I  wouldn't  believe  you. 

Trower. 
I*m  prepared  to  take  any  sort  of  oath. 

Mrs.  H. 
I  should  think  so. 

Trower. 

\Smiling?\^  You  are  hopeless. 

Mrs.  H, 
Quite.     Well ! 

Trower. 

Even  if  what  you   suggest  were  true,  which   I 
assure  you  it  is  not — 

Mrs.  H. 

No !     No !     Of  course  not !     Of  course  not ! 
Trower. 

Even  if  it  were  true,  you  would  be  wrong,  because 
Margaret  is  incapable  of  unreasonable  jealousy. 

B 


i«  THE  A  WAKENING 

Mrs.  H. 

Margaret  is  as  human  as  the  rest  of  us.  I  am  sure 
that  if  I  had  accepted  the  love  you  so  eloquently 
offered  me  a  couple  of  years  ago,  I  should  have  been 
just  as  jealous  and  exacting  as  Margaret.  Thank 
heavens,  I  preferred  your  friendship.  However,  it 
appears  that  cannot  last,  and  I  will  make  my  exit 
as  your  dear  friend  as  gracefully  as  I  can.  \Re  is 
about  to  interrupt.']  No,  don't  speak.  You  want  to 
say  something  kind,  and  that  would  really  hurt  me. 
As  it  is,  I  don't  think  I'm  really  hurt. 

Trower. 

Of  course,  my  dear  Edith,  you  know  you  are  hurt- 
ing me. 

Mrs.  H. 

Am  I,  just  a  little?  In  a  way  I'm  glad,  for  it 
shows  that  your  heart  is  all  right,  although  your  life 
is  all  wrong. 

Trower. 

[Smiling  hut  groaning.']  I  know — I  know. 

Mrs.  H. 
You  make  love  to  every  nice  woman  you  meet. 

Trower. 
\In  despair  J]  Dear  Edith  1 

Mrs.  H. 

With  a  man  like  you,  to.  make  love  indiscrimi- 
nately is  a  predisposition.  You  don't  check  it,  and  it 
becomes  a  habit ;  you  let  it  run  riot,  and  it  becomes 
a  vice.     Yery  often  you  are  successful,  occasionally 


THE  A  WAKENING  19 

mucli  to  your  surprise  and  embarrassment.  The 
reason  of  it  is  that  all  women  are  fools,  and  many 
of  them  unhappy  fools.  And  so  they  tumble  into 
your  careless  net,  and  then  the  trouble  begins,  or, 
as  that  slangy  Cecil  Bird  would  say,  "  the  band 
plays." 

Trower. 

Hard  sayings,  Edith.  \Rim,  ci'oss  R.O. 

Mrs.  H. 

[Risej  go  to  him  C]  They  are  true,  Jim.  That's 
why  I'm  anxious  about  Margaret ;  I  fear  she'll  have 
a  bad  time. 

Trower. 

[Lightly. 1  Nonsense  !  [Mises, 

Mrs.  H. 

She  is  more  emotional  than  L 

Trower. 
Nonsense ! 

Mrs.  H. 

It  will  be  a  greater  shock  to  her  than  it  would 
have  been  to  me  ;  for  the  reason,  if  one  dare  say  so, 
that  she  has  less  intelligence  than  I. 

Trower. 

Non [He  is  about  to  say  Nonsense,  hut  stops 

abruptly.  Bows.^  There  are  few  women,  Edith,  of 
whom  that  might  not  be  said. 

Mrs.  H. 

[Curtseying.']  So  sweet  of  you.  [Then  her  manner 
changes  and  she  goes  to  him.]  Jim,  I  want  you  to  be 
kind  to  Margaret. 


20  THE  AWAKENING 

Trowbr. 

It  would  be  impossible  for  you  to  recommend  any 
one  to  my  kindness  in  vain. 

Mrs.  H. 

Ah !  how  insincere.  Don't  you  know  I'm  in 
deadly  earnest.  Every  one  knows  Arthur  Staines 
is  a  brute,  and  that  Margaret  has  had  a  bad  time 
with  him. 

Enter  Lady  Margaret  Staines,  0. 
I  want  your  promise  that  you  will  be  kind  to  her, 

Margaret. 

\povm  0.]  Who  has  Jim  to  be  kind  to?  Or  is  it 
a  secret? 

Mrs.  H. 

To  my  darling  Faustine.  You  know  my  chestnut 
mare ;  she  is  too  much  for  me  just  now,  and  Jim's 
going  to  ride  her  for  a  week  or  two.  Isn't  it  nice  of 
him,  dear  Margaret  ? 

Margaret. 

Too  sweet.     Look,  Jim,  all  winnings. 

[Skomng  money, 
Trower. 

Cash  at  Bridge  is  manna  in  the  wilderness, 

[Lady  Margaret  moves  to  Mrs  H.,  L.O. 

Mrs.  H. 

[Signijicantly.]  And  so  you  promise  to  be  very 
kind  to  her  ? 

Trower. 

[Smiling.]  I  promise. 


THE  A  WAKENING  21 

Mrs.  H. 

[Putting  a  flower  straight  on  Margaret's  dress. 1 
Dear  Margaret,  how  perfectly  sweet  you  are  looking. 
[Crossing  and  going  up  R.O.]     I  must  get  my  cloak. 

[Exit  Mrs.  H.,  R. 
[Pause,     Margaret  and  Troweb  look  at 
each  other,  smiling, 

Margaret. 

Troweb. 

Margaret, 

[Holding  out  her  hand  to  him. 


Well? 
WeU? 
How  are  you  ? 

How  are  you  9 


Tbower. 


[Takirvg  both  her  hands. 

Margaret. 
Haven't  seen  you  alone  for  ages, 

Trowbr. 
Since  five  o'clock  this  afternoon. 

Margaret. 
That's  ages  I     You  don't  love  me. 

Tboweb. 
You  know  I  do. 


THE  AWAKENING 


Mabgaret. 


Mabgaret. 
Troweb. 


Then  why  in  Heaven's  naine  don't  you  kiss  me? 
[jffe  looki  cautiously  round,  then  kisses  her.]  Vm 
jealous. 

Troweb. 

Of  whom  ? 

Edith. 

Absurd  t 

Margaret. 

I  believe  she  used  to  love  you. 

Trower. 
How  long  have  you  had  this  precious  knowledge  t 

Margaret. 

Oh,  quite  a  long  time  before — ^before  tis.  [Softly,] 
If  anything  could  have  been  before  us. 

Enter  Mrs.  Herbertson.     Troweb  goes  over  L. 
to  bell.     Trower  touches  bell. 

Mrs.  H. 
Good  night,  dear,  dear  Margaret. 

Margaret. 

Qood  night,  dear. 

[They  kiss  with  much  affection, 
[Mrs.  H.  moves  up  L.  and  Lady  M.  crosses 
R.O. 


THE  A  WAKENING  23 

Trowee. 

\Ai  door^  Mrs.  Herbertson*s  carriage. 

[Teoweb  goes  to  the  d,oor  L.  with  Mrs.  H. 

Mrs.  H. 

[Cfheerfully,']  Good  night,  Jim.  I  have  enjoyed 
myself.     Remember  your  promise. 

Trower. 
Good  night. 

[Remains  at  the  door  for  a  moment, 
[Margaret  remains  0.    Tsower  comes 
L.  0. 

Margaret. 

[B.C.]  Youll  come  to  Blair  House  next  week  ? 

Trower. 
[C]  Lady  Warristor  hasn't  asked  me. 

Margaret. 

She's  going  to.  Do  come,  Jim.  You  know  how 
sweet  and  kind  she  is,  and  how  cleverly  she  under- 
stands things. 

Trower. 

I  know.  I  shall  certainly  come  if  it's  at  all 
possible. 

Enter  Miss  Prescott,  0.,  and  Lord  Reggie.  Thei^ 
are  followed  by  Lady  Warristor  a7id  Cecii* 
Bird,  who  are  talking  together.  Lord  Reggie 
goes  down  L.,  Miss  Prescott  dow7i  0.  Ladt 
Warristor  and  Cecil  stop  talking  up  0. 

Miss  P. 
[C,  going  to  Trower.]  You  are  a  perfect  dear. 


24  THE  A  WAKENING 

Trower. 
[L.O.]  What  have  I  done? 

Miss  P. 

Won  that  rubber  for  me.  If  you  weren't  already 
so  vain  I'd  kiss  you. 

Trower. 
\Coming  nearer  toller^  Do. 

Miss  P. 

\A'ppealing  to  eoeryhody.\  Well!  Did  you  ever 
hear  anything  so  impudent  ?     Margaret,  I  ask  you. 

Margaret. 
You're  blushing,  my  dear. 

Miss  P. 

Of  course  I  am.  I  always  get  red  at  the  least 
thing.  It's  only  rude  health ;  I  believe  that's  why 
no  one  ever  conceived  a  passion  for  me,  I'm  too 
healthy. 

Trower. 

[Taking  Lord  R.'s  arm  and  moving  with  him  to 
Miss  P.]  Anyway,  it  was  Reggie  who  won  the 
rubber  for  you,  and  as  he  has  no  vanity — 

Lord  R. 

[C]  None,  I  assure  you — you  need  have  no 
scruples.  Miss  Prescott. 


THE  A  WAKENING  2$ 

Miss  P. 

[Pushing  them  away.]  Be  off  with  you.  [Reggie 
and  Trower  get  back  L.C.]  I  despise  men.  Cecil, 
where's  my  money  ?     Pay  up ! 

[Stretches  out  he?-  open  hand  dramatically. 
[Lady  W.  joins  Margaret  down  R. 

Bird. 
[Coming  down  0.]  My  dear  lady — 

Miss  P. 

Dear  lady  be  blowed.  [^Holding  out  her  hand.] 
I  demand  money  with  menaces. 

Bird. 

Kow  you  really  don't  suppose  I  go  about  in  the 
evening  ruining  my  clothes  with  pieces  of  metal. 
In  the  morning  your  winnings  shall  assume  the 
dignity  of  a  cheque. 

Miss  P. 

All  right.     [Goes  up  R.O.     Reggie  goes  up  L.O. 

to  back.]     Margaret,  I'm  going.  [Goes  L. 

[Cecil  crosses  to  Lady  W.,  R.C. 

Margaret. 
Bring  my  cloak  with  you,  dear. 

Miss  P. 
Yes,  dear. 

[Exit  1m 
Bird. 

[Wh/>  hat  been  talking  to  Lady  W.]  Well,  good 
night,  Lady  Warristor.  [Shaking  hands. 


^6  THE  AWAKENING 

Lady  W. 

•Good  night,  Cecil.     Remember  Friday. 

[Reggie  goes  dovm  R.C.  to  Lady  M. 

Bird. 
[C]  Friday,  with  great  pleasure.  You're  very 
•kind.  Good  night,  Margaiet.  [^Shaking  hands.'\ 
Kjood  night,  Lord  Reggie.  Good  night,  Jim.  [^Gross 
■L.C.]  A  thousand  thanks  for  a  most  delightful 
^evening.  I've  ruined  my  average,  but  my  digestion 
is  unimpaired. 

[Trower  goes  to  the  door  vrith  him, 

Trower. 
[L.O.,  in  a  low  voice.]    I  say,  old  man,  are.  you 
really  worried  ? 

Bird. 
[C]  A  bit,  I  confess.     But  don't  you  bother. 

Trower. 
It's  no  bother.      Come  and  see  me  at  the  office 
to-morrow. 

Bird. 
You're  too  good,  Jim.      Pa's   bound  to  unbend 
some  time ;  otherwise — well,  I  can  only  anticipate 
a  performance  by  the  band. 

Trower. 
To-morrow,  then.     Good  night. 

Bird. 
Good  night,  Jim.  [Goes  up  L.O. 

[Miss  P.  with  Margaret's  cloak  enters 
R.,  arid  cross  G.  to  Margaret.  Mcit 
Bird. 


THE  A  WAKENING  Vf 

Lady  W. 

[Grosses  C.  to  Trower.]  Mr.  Trower,  I  want  you 
to  come  to  Blair  House  from  Friday  till  Monday. 
Quite  a  small  party,  only  ourselves. 

Trower. 

There  is  nothing  I  should  like  better,  Lady  War- 
ristor,  only — I'm  a  little  afraid  of  the  chief. 

Lady  W. 
Bother  the  chief ! 

Trower. 

The  chief  is  bothered.  However,  I'll  let  you  know 
during  the  week  if  I  may  leave  it  like  that. 

Lady  W. 

Of  coiu'se  I'll  let  you  leave  it — [going  up  R.] — like 
that — \hy  door] — and  of  course  I  shall  expect  you. 

[Trower  joins  Lady  M.  up  C.  Uxit 
Lady  W.,  R.  Trower  takes  Mar- 
garet's cloak  from  her,  and  helps  her 
on  with  it  a  little  up  stage  C.  They 
talk.  Miss  P.  juoves  doum  R.O.  to 
Reggie— sj^e  is  putting  her  gloves  on. 

Lord  R. 
May  I  come  and  see  you  soon  % 

Miss  P. 

Any  afternoon  you  like  ;  but  make  it  late,  as  I'm 
out  so  much.  I'm  doing  Mrs.  Koppinger's  party  for 
her,  and  it's  a  fearful  bother.  Where  is  one  to  get 
men  from  ?     I  ask  you. 


28  THE  A  WAKEN WG 

Lord  R. 
Difficult  just  now. 

Miss  P. 

Of  course  one  can  always  lill  up  with  the  men 
who  are  men  more  by  circumstance  than  choice. 
Like  the  poor,  they're  always  with  us.  Bother 
Africa !     It's  swallowed  all  our  best  men. 

Lord  R 
\Pulling  Ma  moustacTie.]  Humph ! 

Miss  P. 

[Quickly  laying  her  hand  on  his  arm,]  All  but  a 
very  few  golden  men  who  couldn't  go,  one  of  whom 
is  the  dearest  old  thing  in  the  world,  and  will 
come  and  take  tea  with  me  on  Tuesday  at  5.30.  I 
mention  no  names, 

[They  shake  hands,  and  look  in  each  other's 
eyes  with  an  affection  that  has  never 
been  spoken. 

Lord  R. 

Delighted.     Good  night. 

[They  remain  R.,  talking, 
[Miss  P.  goes  to  Margaret.     Lady  W. 
hustles  in  R.     Trower  touches  the  bell. 
Servant  appears  in  doorway. 

Lady  W. 

Good  night,  Margaret.  [Kisses  her.  Cross  L.O. 
to  Trower.  j  Good  night,  dear  Mr.  Trower.  It's 
been  charming.  [Shakes  hands, 

[Trower  goes  to  door  L. 


THE  A  WAKENING  29 

Trower. 
\M  door.]  Lady  Warristor's  carriage. 

Lady  W. 

[C/p  L.O.]  Good  night,  everybody.  [Cross  Thower 
to  L.]     Remember  Friday. 

Trower. 

I  do  hope  I'll  be  able  to  come.  Good  night. 
[Exit  L.  Trower  crosses  to  back  of  table.]  Now, 
why  don't  you  three  nice  people  stay  a  little  longer  ? 

Margaret. 
[Down  L.O.]  Oh  yes — do  let'a 

Miss  P. 

[Dotm  R.C.]  You  stay,  Margaret,  by  all  means ; 
but  as  for  me,  I'm  going  home.  I  demand  eight 
hours'  sleep.  It's  the  only  way  to  keep  healthy  in 
mind  and  body. 

Margaret. 

Of  course,  you  know  I  can't  stay  without  you. 
How  extremely  disagreeable  you  are  sometimes. 

Miss  P. 

My  dear,  I  hope  you'll  excuse  my  having  been 
born ;  but  I'm  going  to  my  lonely  little  bed  anyway. 
Jim,  order  a  hansom  for  me. 

[Grosses  to  L.  and  rings  bell. 

Margaret. 

[Follmotng  her  a  little.]  Oh,  don't  be  absurd.  Of 
course  I'll  drive  you.  Good  night,  Reggie.  Good 
night,  Jim. 


y> 

THE  A  WAKENING 

Good  night. 

Lord  R. 

[Miss  P.  waiU  at  door  L. 

Margaret. 

To-morrow. 
Of  course 

Trower. 

\Go  up  to  door. 

Margaret. 

[To  Miss  P.,  L.O.,  at  door.]  Pig ! ! 

[Exit  Margaret  and  Miss  P.,  L. 
[Trower  then  turns  light  out  on  0.  table, 

Trower. 
Well,  old  man,  I  think  we  must  have  a  drink. 

Lord  R. 

[Crossing  L.O.,  looking  after  Miss  P.]  No  more, 
thanks ;  isn't  she  a  charming  woman  ? 

Trower. 
[Down  R.O.]  Very.  [Lights  a  cigarette 

Lord  R. 
So  frank  !  [Sits  on  sofa  L. 

Trower. 
[Mildly.]  Yes.  [At  table  0. 

Lord  R. 

I  don't  know  how  to  express  it.  I'm .  always  a 
fool  talking  about  a  woman,  or  to  one  for  that 
matter. 

Trower. 

Nonsense. 


THE  A  WAKENING  31 

Lord  R. 

Yes,  I  am  ;  but  I  was  going  to  say  that  there  is 
something  so  magnificently  honest  about  her.  Yon 
couldn't,  for  instance,  imagine  her  telling  a  lie  or 
doing  a  mean  thing. 

Trower. 

No.  \Sliglit  'pause,  then  mare  decidedly^  No — not 
a  lie  or  a  mean  thing  from  a  woman's  point  of  view. 

Lord  R. 

\Ri8e,  cross  0.  to  him.]  One  realises  what  an  un- 
worthy devil  one  is  when  one  meets  a  woman  like 
Miss  Prescott. 

Trowbr. 
Miss  Prescott  ? 

Lord  R. 

Yes ;  we're  talking  about  her,  aren't  we  ? 

Trower. 
Of  course. 

[Lord  R.  looks  at  Trower  uneasily. 

Lord  R. 
I  must  be  going.     Good  night. 

[Shaking  hands  mth  Trowbb, 

Trower. 

[Holding  his  hand.]  You  are  right,  Reggie.  She's 
a  good  soul,  and  goodness  has  a  sort  of  unconscious 
freemasonry  of  its  own. 

Lord  R. 
No  one  knows  that  better  than  you,  old  man. 


THE  A  WAKENING 


Trower. 


[Pained.]  1!  I!  [He  seems  about  to  add  something^ 
then  controls  liimself  and  says  quietly]    Good  night. 

[Taking  him  up  to  L.  door. 
[Exit  Lord  R.  in  his  own  deliberate  manner. 
[Trower  looks  after  him,  then  comes  into 
the  room  and  is  thoughtful.  His 
thoughts  are  apparently  painful.  The 
noise  of  the  front  door  being  shut  is 
heard.  Trower  idly  gathers  the  cards 
together,  then  throws  them  down  on  table 
and  goes  over  to  R.  and  sits. 

^Enter  Jarvis,  L.,  with  evening  newspaper  on  salver, 
which  he  hands  to  Trower. 

Jarvis. 

Shall  you  be  going  out,  sir  ? 

[Fulling  C.  table  dovm  a  little, 

Trower. 

No,  Jarvis  ;  give  me  a  whisky  and  seltzer. 

[Throws  himself  into  a  chair  R. 

Jarvis. 

[Goes  to  spirit- stand,  L.,  taking  a  glass  whisky  and 
seltzer  over  on  salver.]  I  'ope  everything  was  satisfac- 
tory to-night,  sir  ? 

Trower. 

Everything  but  the  cutlets ;  they  weren't  done. 

Jarvis. 
The  grill's  Mrs.  Wickham's  one  weakness,  sir.     I 


THE  A  WAKENING  33 

must  tell  her  again.    The  Moussiline  looked  a  dream, 
sir. 

[Hands  drink  to  Trower,  then  begins  to 
put  chairs  away  from  C.  table, 

Trower. 

[Tndifferently.'\  Yes,  you  ought  to  have  asked  the 
name  of  the  young  lady  who  called. 

Jarvis.         , 

I  did,  sir,  but  she  didn't  give  it  She  laughed  a 
little  and  said,  "  Oh,  I'm  nobody."  [Trower  starts 
slightly,]    She  had  a  pretty  way  of  laughin',  sir. 

Trower. 

You  may  put  the  hall  lights  out.  [Jarvis  crosses  to 
door.]    I'm  going  to  bed. 

Jarvis. 

Yes,  sir.  [He  goes.  When  he  reaches  the  door  an 
electric  hell  is  heard.]  That's  the  door  bell,  sir. 
Shall  you  be  at  home  1 

Trower. 

See  who  it  is.  [Exit  Jarvis  L.  ;  long  pause.  Goes 
softly  to  the  door  and  listens.]  It's  all  right,  Jarvis, 
show  the  lady  up.  "  [Another  pause  ;  Trower  brings 
Olive  Lawrence  into  the  room,]     How  do  you  do  ? 

[Gross  C. 

[He  then  crosses  back  to  the  door  L.     He 

hesitates  about  closing  it,  and  finally 

leaves  it  a  little  hit  ajar.     He  slowly 

returns  to  h£r  ;  she  has  moved  down  B..0. 

Olive. 

[R.O.,  nervously,]  Was  I  wrong  to  come? 


34  THE  A  WAKENING 

Trower. 
[0.,  smiling^  No. 

Olive. 
\RejpToaclifully^  Only  a  cold  *'  How  do  you  dot" 

Trower. 
Before  Jarvis? 

Olive. 
Who  is  Jarvis  ? 

Trower. 

My  butler,  my  valet,  my  chief  of  establishment — 
my  indispensable. 

Olive. 
Is  he  a  tyrant  % 

Trower. 

Yes.    \He  takes   both   her  hands  in  Aw.]      Now 
explain. 

Olivb. 
You  are  surprised. 

Trower, 
Amazed. 

Olive. 
[0.]  And  not  pleased  ? 

[Trower  looks  in  her  eyeSf  then  draws  her 
to  him  and  kisses  her, 

Trower. 
[L.O.]  Will  that  answer  do? 

Olive. 
[CorUentedlyl  Yes. 

Trower. 
Well? 


THE  A  WAKENING  35 

Olive. 

I  wanted  to  see  you,  Jim.  [Looking  towards  door 
L.]     Will  Mr.  Jarvis  hear  it  if  I  call  you  Jim  ? 

Trower. 
No ;  Jarvis  doesn't  listen — he's  exceptionaL 

Olive. 

I  wanted  to  see  you,  so  I  wrote  to  Mr.  Alwick, 
the  solicitor,  making  an  appointment  to  call  on  him. 

Trower. 

Why  didn't  you  make  an  appointment  with  me 
instead  ? 

Olive. 

I  wanted  to  surprise  you,  and  I — I  wasn't  quite 
sure  if  you  wanted  to  see  me  in  London.  Mr. 
Alwick  wrote  back  asking  me  to  stay  the  night  with 
his  family.  I'm  sure  it  would  have  been  very  nice ; 
they  live  at  Hammersmith.  But  I  went  to  an  hotel 
instead — because — because — I  wanted  to  see  you. 

Trower. 
But  you  mustn't  go  to  hotels  alone. 

Olive. 

It's  only  a  very  little  one — where  father  used  to 
stay  when  he  came  to  London. 

Trower. 

You  don't  understand,  dear.  Girls  don't  stay 
alone  at  hotels. 


THE  A  WAKENING 


Olive. 


But  I'm  a  woman.     You  forget  I'm  twenty-two. 
[Leans  on  edge  of  R.  table, 
[Slight  pause.     He  looks  away  from  Tier, 

Trower. 

You  probably  haven't  a  maid  with  you  ? 

Olive. 

Of  course  not.  I  don't  own  one,  unless  Mra 
Selby  counts.  Perhaps  I  ought  to  have  brought 
her.  [Slowly  a  smile  steals  over  Tver  face.]  Mrs. 
Selby  would  be  funny  in  London,  wouldn't  she,  Jim  ? 
Can't  you  see  her  side  curls  bobbing?  [Laughs 
merrily.  Trower  melts  into  a  laugh.]  But  I  forgot, 
I  oughtn't  to  laugh.  [Becomes  demurely  grave.]  I'm 
in  disgrace.  [Looks  at  him  sideways.]  I  oughtn't  to 
have  come.     My  conduct  has  been  most  improper. 

Trower. 

[Puts  chair  R.O.  for  her.  He  takes  chair  from 
L.O.  to  0.  and  sits.]  Sit  down  and  tell  me  how  you 
spent  the  evening. 

Olive. 

Oh,  it's  been  a  beautiful  evening.  I  dined  at  my 
little  hotel,  such  a  good  dinner,  and  every  now  and 
then  I  whispered  to  myself,  '*  I'm  going  to  meet 
HIM."  I  didn't  say  Jim,  or  "my  darling" — you're 
sure  Mr.  Jarvis  can't  hear  ? 

Trowee. 
Quite  sure. 


THE  AWAKENING  37 

Olive. 

But  just  "  him,"  as  if  there  were  no  other  man  in 
the  world.  After  dinner  I  waited  a  little  to  make 
sure  you'd  finished  your  dinner — then  I  took  a 
hansom,  such  a  good  hansom,  with  spring  cushions 
and  a  grey  horse.  I've  got  it  still.  \Rise  and  cross 
L.  to  window.^  Do  come  and  look.  [She  goes  up  to 
windoio — he  follows  and  they  draw  aside  the  blinds.'] 
Isn't  it  a  good  hansom  ? 

Trowbb. 

Yes,  and  a  capital  horse. 

Olive. 

And  the  driver  said  he  didn't  in  the  least  mind 
waiting !  [She  comes  down  L.O.  and  sits  on  sofa  L.] 
Well,  where  was  I  ?  [He  comes  down  L.  and  sits  by 
her.  ]     Mr.  Jarvis  can't  see,  can  he  ? 

Troweb. 
Na 

Olive. 

If  I  weren't  in  disgrace,  I'd  kiss  you — just  there. 
\Touches  the  side  of  his  face  timidly.  He  leans  his 
face  nearer  to  her.  She  kisses  him.]  You  are  melt- 
ing a  little,  aren't  you,  Jim  ? 

Troweb. 
Rapidly. 

Olive. 

Oh!  I'm  glad.  You're  so  much  nearer  to  me 
when  you  smile.  Well,  I  gave  the  cabman  this  ad- 
dress, and  we  came  along  beautifully  smoothly — 
he's  8uch  a  good  driver — and  I  still  kept  saying  to 


58  THE  A  WAKENING 

myself,  "I'm  going  to  see  him."  But  suddenly  a 
dreadful  thought  came — suppose  you  were  out.  I 
felt  myself  turn  pale.  Do  you  know  what  that 
feeling  is? 

Trowee. 
Yes,  dear. 

Olive. 

I  suppose  every  one  who  is  in  love  knows  it 
Well,  we  drew  up  at  the  house  and  you  loere  at 
home,  only — only  you  had  a  party. 

\Rises  and  stands  by  him, 

Trower. 
A  very  few  friends. 

Olive. 
Any  ladies  ? 

Trowbr. 

Well,  yes — certainly  there  were  ladie* 

Olive. 
Pretty  ones? 

TRowBa. 

Ye-es — one  might  say  so. 

[SWjht  pause.  Olive  is  thoughtful ;  sudr- 
denly  her  face  glows,  and  she  puts  her 
hands  to  her  bosom  and  fully  faces  the 
audience. 

Olive. 

[Moves  a  little  C]  I  wouldn't  care  if  all  the  most 

beautiful  women  in  London  were  here,  so  long  as 

you  kept  thought  of  me.  [Turning  to  him. 

[Trower  looks  at  her  wonderingly.     The 

great  faith  of  her  heart  is  obviously  a 

revelation  to  him.     She  turns  to  him. 


THE  A  WAKENING  39 

Olive. 

You  do  think  of  me — sometimes,  Jim? 

Trower. 

I  do,  Olive.  \Ri6es^  and  moves  to  Tier, 

Olive. 
Often? 

Trower. 

Always.  [Nervously.]  In  truth  you  are  very  much 
on  my  conscience. 

Olive. 

[A  little  archly  but  very  tenderly. 1^  Is  that  some- 
where near  your  heart,  dear? 

Trower. 

[Much  movedf  comes  to  Tier.]  Very  near  my  heart, 
little  one. 

Olive. 

Then  I'd  like  to  stay  there. 

[Putting  Tier  hand  on  his  shoulder, 

Trower. 
You  will, 

[He  smooths  her  hair  caressingly.  There 
is  a  slight  pause,  which  she  breaks  svd^ 
denly  with  a  little  sigh, 

Olivb. 

[Going  away  R.  a  little.']  Well,  when  I  found  you 
had  a  party — [moving  up  E-.  a  little,  looks  round  the 
room  admiringly] — and,  of  course,  having  such  beau- 
tiful rooms,  you  must  entertain  your  friends 


THE  A  WAKENING 


Troweb. 


Playfully^  Don't  stop  to  wrestle  with  cause  and 
'act,  dear,  but  go  straight  on. 

•  Olive. 

[At  hack  of  R.C.  chair.']  That's  what  I  told  my  dear 
cabman  to  do,  and  he  did.  But  of  course  I  had  no 
intention  of  letting  you  off ;  so,  after  what  I  thought 
a  reasonable  time,  I  told  him  to  come  straight  back, 
and  he  did.  [Coming  down  0. 

Troweb. 

And  so  here  you  are,  somewhere  near  midnight,  in 
the  rooms  of  a — bachelor. 

Olive. 

Safe  in  the  rooms  of  the  man  I  love. 

[Moving  towards  him, 
Trower. 

But,  my  dear  child,  don't  you  see  how  compro- 
mising it  is  ? 

Olive. 
For  whom  ? 

Troweb. 

For  you.  [Shxxrt  laugh.']  It  would  be  difficult  to 
compromise  me. 

Olive. 

What  does  compromise  mean?  Other  people 
knowing  when  you're  in  love  ? 

Troweb. 

Something  like  that.  What  do  you  suppose,  for 
instance,  Jarvis  thinks  ? 


THE  A  WAKENING  41 

Olive. 
Mr.  Jarvis's  reflections  don't  interest  meu 

Trower. 

\Laughs^  with  a  trace  of  vexation^  and  shakes  her 
gently.']  You're  a  hopeless  girl. 

Olive. 

[Steadfastly.']  Hopelessly  in  love. 

[He  sits  on  the  edge  of  a  table  0.,  and 
draws  her  to  him. 

Trower. 

Now,  listen  ;  it's  natural  that  you  shouldn't  quite 
understand,  for  your  bringing  up  was,  to  say  the 
least  of  it,  unconventional.  No  mother  to  look  after 
you ;  a  father  who  doted  on  you,  but  let  you  run  wild 
like  a  fay. 

Olive. 
He  was  a  darling. 

Trower. 

But  he  was  engrossed  in  his  art.  He  taught  you 
nothing. 

Olive. 

He  taught  me  everything. 

Trower. 
Nothing  about  the  world. 

Olive. 

He  hated  the  world.  He  loved  only  beautiful 
things — nature  and  ai-t  and  truth,  and  he  taught 


43  THE  A  WAKENING 

me  the  love  of  them.     But  you  taught  me  the  love 
of  you. 

[Trower's  face^  which  is  away  from  her 
and  full  to  the  audierice,  becomes  hag- 
gard.    Pause. 

Olive. 

[Gently — getting  away  a  little.]  Won't  you  go  on 
scolding  me,  Jim  ? 

Trowbr. 

[Abruptly,']  No. 

Olive. 

Please  do.  [Moves  B..C.]  I'm  really  anxious  to 
learn  things.  [Turning  to  him.]  Only  you  didn't 
say  anything  in  the  country  about  my  being  com- 
promised, or  about  my  bringing  up  being  uncon- 
ventional. 

Trower. 

One  dreams  in  the  country. 

Olive. 

Yes,  beautiful  dreams.  When  will  you  come  and 
dream  in  the  country  again,  Jim  ? 

Trower. 

I'm  invited  to  your  neighbourhood  next  week. 

[Moving  L.O. 
Olive. 

Oh,  how  splendid !     Will  you  comet 

Trower. 
Perhaps. 

Olive. 
And  see  me  ? 


THE  A  WAKENING  43 

Teower. 
If  I  comei 

Olivb. 

Where  will  you  stay  ? 

Tboweb. 
Blair  House. 

Olivb. 

With  Lady  Warristor  ? 

Trower. 
Yes.     Do  you  know  her  ? 

Olive. 
Very  little,  but  father  knew  her  well.  He 
painted  her  portrait.  She  sometimes  asks  me  to 
the  house.  [Pa?^se.]  You  don't  seem  glad  you're 
coming  near  me,  Jim.  I  seem  to  have  lost  you,  and 
don't  know  how  to  win  you  back.  I  suppose  it's 
because  I  don't  know  the  way  of  the  world  well 
enough. 

[Troweb  walks  down  stage  L.,  a  prey 
to  painfiU  thought.  Suddenly  Trowek 
comes  hack  to  her^  and  lifting  her,  he 
swings  her  standing  on  to  the  armchair. 
Then  he  steps  back  and  stands  with  his 
arms  stretched  out. 

Teower, 
[Turning  and  holding  out  his  arms  C]  Come. 
Olive. 
Ah,  it's  really  you  after  all. 

[She  laughs  gleefully ^  and  springs  into 
his  arms. 


44  THE  A  WAKENING 

Trower. 
\Repentantly.\  No!  \He  moves  away  from  her, 

Olive. 
You  are  angry  with  me  ? 

Trower. 

I  am  angry  with  myself — you  really  mustn't  stay 
here  any  longer. 

Olive. 

I'm  very  sorry  I  came — very ! 

[^She  goes  slowly  towards  the  door, 
Trower. 

Wait !  "What  a  child  you  are  !  [Goes  up  L.  and 
rings  bell.  Returning  to  C]  Now  look  very  prim, 
for  the  terrible  Mr.  Jarvis  is  coming.  [Olive  affects 
a  prim  appearance.  Enter  Jarvis,  L.]  My  coat 
and  hat. 

Jarvis. 
Yes,  sir.  [Exit  L. 

Olive. 

[In  a  loio  voice  but  mthout  moving.]  What  are  you 
going  to  do  ? 

Trower. 

Drive  you  to  your  hotel. 

Olive. 

In  my  beautiful  hansom?  Oh,  you  are  good. 
[Then  roguishly.]  But  won't  it — won't  it  be  com- 
promising ? 

Trower. 

[Smiling.]  Damnably,  but  less  so  than  your  being 
here,  little  one. 


THE  A  WAKENING  4S 

Olive. 

[Running  her  hands  together.]  Oh,  how  exciting. 

[Enter  Jarvis  imth  hat  and  coat;  Olive 
becomes  prim  again.  Jarvis  h^dps 
Tboweb  on  with  coat. 

Trower. 

You  may  turn  these  lights  out,  Jarvis.     And — 
and  you  needn't  wait  up  for  me. 

Jarvis. 
Very  good,  sir. 

[Going  away  up  0. 

Trower. 

[Very  formally.']  Shall  we  go.  Miss  Lawrence? 

Olive. 

[TF*Y/i  a  pretty  attempt  to  catch  the  same  tone,]  I*m 
quite  ready,  Mr.  Trower. 

[He  lets  her  pass  in  front  of  him  and  they  go  out, 
[Jarvis  switches  off  the  electric  light,  leaving 
the  stage  in  darkness.  He  then  follows 
them,  closing  the  door  after  him.  Slight 
pause.  Then  the  hang  of  the  front  door 
being  shut  is  heard. 

Curtain. 


KND   OF  AGT  I 


! 

Coffee  tray  and 
coflft-e-cups  for 
six  on  small 
table  by  tree 
RC. 

Liqueur  glasses 
on  salver. 

Also  salver  and 
liqueur  decan- 
ters. All  on 
table  R.O. 

Three  cushions, 
papers,  croquet 
mallet  aud 
wool  for  Cecil 
upK. 

Cigarette  and 
case  for  Trower 
upR. 

Cigar  and  matchee 
for  Resrgie. 

Writteu  letterfor 
Olive,  L. 

Telegram  on  sal- 
ver for  footman 
R.,  telegram  for 
Miss  P.,  R. 

1 

Qi 

Cane  settee. 
Chair  L.  of  table 

behind  it. 
Flower-beds 

along  L. 

i 
a 

Chair. 

Flowers  in  pots, 

each     side     of 

steps. 
Sun-diaL 

■ 

1 

Small     wibker 

table. 
Chair  R.  and  L. 

of  it. 
Small  table  under 

tree. 
Flower-bed. 

1 

i! 

ol 

d 

^1 

ACT   II 

Scene. — Part  of  the  >groundSy  Blair  House,  Dorset- 
shire. Garden  table  and  chairs  carelessly  abouit — 
more  or  less  under  a  big  tree  L.C.  It  is  a  hot 
day  and  the  sun  is  brilliant 

[Discovered  :  Butler  and  Footman.  Butleb 
puts  table  down  B.C.  and  tea  tray  on  it. 
Footman  arranging  chair  C.  On  the  cur- 
tain rising  Footman  arranges  the  tables 
and  chairs.  Approaching  laughter  and 
voices  are  heard  off.  Enter  Lady  War- 
RiSTOR  and  Cecil  Bird,  followed  by  Miss 
Prescott,  who  has  knitting.  The  ladies 
wear  light  summer  frocks  and  garden  hats. 
Reggie  moves  down  L.  Cecil  arranges 
cushion  for  IjADY  W.,  R. 

Bird. 

[R.C.]  Any  sort  of  exertion  is  quite  out  of  the 
question.  [Feebly  gives  Lady  W  a  chair  R.,  then 
collapses  into  one  himself  L.  <f  table.]  I've  eaten  a 
lunch  of  truly  appalling  pi  oportions. 

Miss  P. 

[Coming  down  C]  Maintaining  your  average,  eh, 
Cecil? 

[Margaret   and    Trower   appear — wcdk 
around  hmise. 

♦7 


48  THE  A  WAKENING 

Bird. 
Well,  yes — if  you  like  to  put  it  in  that  nasty  way. 

Lady  W. 
What  a  pretty  frock  you're  wearing,  Molly. 

Miss  P. 

Yes.     [L.]     Isn't  it  sweet  ?     My  new  maid  did  it. 

My  wool,  Cecil.  \8its  sofa  L. 

[Cecil  crosses  with  Molly's  wool. 

Lady  W. 

[Still  sitting  R.  of  table.']  You're  very  lucky.  It's 
as  much  as  I  can  do  to  make  Annette  keep  the 
buttons  on  my  gloves. 

Miss  P. 
But  she  does  your  hair  so  beautifully. 

Bird. 
[Aside  to  Miss  P.]  And  puts  it  on  so  straight. 

[Grosses  R.O.  and  sits. 

Miss  P. 

[Aside  to  Mm.']  Shut  up  ! 

[Lady  Margaret  and  Trower,  talking, 
come  down  C.     Lady  M.  laughs. 

Bird. 

[i^tse.]  Dear  Lady  Margaret,  this  is  the  most 
oomfy  chair. 

[Margaret  sits  R.O.  Lord  Reggie  cornea 
slowly  down  L.  Enter  Footman  with 
coffee-tray^   followed    by   Butlee   vrith 


THE  A  WAKENING  49 

liquoTs,  Bird  selects  anotJier  chair  R.O. 
and  is  about  to  sit  when  Trower  gently 
takes  it  from  him. 

Trower. 

Respect  for  an  aged  diplomat.     Thanks,  old  man. 

[Sits  0. 
\He  sits  between  Margaret  arid  Miss 
Prescott.  The  Footman  places  coffee 
on  table  before  Lady  W.,  who  pours  it 
out.  Lord  Reggie  takes  the  remain- 
ing available  chair  and  sits  L. 

Lady  W. 
Coffee,  Margaret  ?  [Cecil  goes  to  Lady  W. 

Margaret. 
No,  thank  you. 

[She  lies  back  in  her  chair,  fanning  her- 
self. 

Lady  W. 

[^Handing  a  cup  to  Bird.]  For  Miss  Prescott. 

[Bird  crosses  0.  to  Miss  P. ;  hands  cup, 
[Miss  P.  puts  work  down  on  sofa, 

LadyW.    ' 
Will  you  take  coffee,  Mr.  Trower  ? 

[Cecil  crosses  back  to  Lady  W. 

Trower. 

If  you  please,  Lady  Warristor.     Do  you  mind, 
Cecil? 

Bird. 
Too  delighted. 

[Takes  cup  from  Lady  W.  to  Trower,  R.O. 


50  THE  A  WAKENING 

Trowbr. 

[TaMng  cup.]  Thanks,  Cecil.  Isn't  he  a  good  chap, 
Margaret — and  all  the  while  he's  really  dying  to  sit 
down. 

Lady  W. 

There's  a  nice  chair  over  there,  Mr.  Bird. 

[Points  to  a  chair  in  the  distance. 

Bird. 

[Squats  on  the  ground  in  front  of  table.]  Mother 
Earth  will  do  for  me,  Lady  Warristor. 

[The  Butler  has  been  offering  liquors^  which 
Tiave  been  refused.  He  now  bends  down 
to  Bird. 

Butler. 

[R.  of  Oeoil.]  Brandy,  Benedictine,  Kummel,  sir? 

Bird. 
Benedictine,  please.  [Takes  glass. 

[Butler  hands  liquors  to  Trower  and 
takes  his  coffee-cup.  Exit  Butler  and 
Footman.  Trower's  eyes  are  closed 
and  his  hat  tilted  forward.  Margaret 
peeps  under  his  Jiat,  then  takes  a  flower 
from  her  belt  and  fastens  it  gently  in 
his  buttonhole. 

Miss  P. 
Talk,  Reggie.  [Gives  Reggie  her  coffee-cup. 

Lord  R. 

I  can't,  dear  friend.  Talking's  not  in  our  family 
on  the  men's  side.  They  used  to  call  my  father 
William  the  Silent. 


THE  AWAKENING  $1 

Lady  W. 
What  a  gem  of  a  husband  he  must  have  been. 

Lord  B. 
He  was. 

Lady  W. 

Well,  you  must  talk  this  afternoon,  Lord  Reggie 
— indeed,  you  all  must,  and  be  very  kind  and  sweet 
to  some  one  who's  coming  to  spend  a  few  hours  here. 

BiBD. 

Who  is  it? 

Lady  W. 

A  girl  you  played  croquet  with  here  last  year, 
Cecil.  She  lives  in  that  big  cottage  at  the  far  end 
of  the  village — Olive  Lawrence. 

[Trower/oZc?«  his  arms^  hvi  othervjise  does 
not  move. 

Bird. 

Oh,  yes,  rather — the  painter's  daughter.  She's  a 
dear. 

Lady  W. 

Have  any  of  you  met  her  ?  [To  the  others* 

Margaret  and  Miss  P. 
I  haven't. 

Lord  B. 
No. 

Lady  W. 

Do  you  know  her,  Mr.  Trower  ? 

{Pause,    Trower  doeanH  mom. 


52  THE  A  WAKENING 

Margaret. 
[Shaking  Trower  slightly,]    Jim !     [Trower  sits 
up  as  though  Tie  had  been  asleep.']    Lady  Warristor 
is  speaking  to  you. 

Trower. 
Ten  thousand  pardons,  Lady  Warristor. 

Lady  W. 
Do  you  happen  to  know  a  Miss  Olive  Lawrence  in 
the  village  ? 

Trower. 

[Rubbing  his  eyes.]  Olive  Lawrence — Olive 

Bird, 
You  must   have  met  her,  Jim,  when   you  were 
down  here  fishing  in  April. 

Trower. 
Wait  a  moment — yes — when  I  was  staying  at  the 
Plough  and  Harrow.    Of  course — let  me  see — I  met 
her  at  the  vicarage — rdark  girl — quite  right. 

Lady  W. 
I  was  saying  that  I've  asked  her  here  for  the 
afternoon,  and  we  must  all  be  nice  to  her.  I'm 
afraid  she  has  a  very  dull  time  down  there,  espe 
cially  since  her  father  died.  Cecil,  you  must  arrange 
a  battle  royal  at  croquet. 

Bird. 
Anything  for  La  belle  Lawrence.      I  was  fright- 
fully in  love  with  her  last  year.     If  either  of  us  had 
had  ;^5ooo  a  year,  I'd  have  proposed  to  her. 

[Trower,  tvho  has  pushed  his  hat  back,  is 
looking  steadily  at  Bird. 


THE  A  WAKENING  53 

Miss  P. 
Dear  Cecil  is  so  impressionable. 

Margaret. 

But  quite  harmless. 

Bird. 

Not  so  very  harmless.     If  I  were  to  expose  my 

private  life  to  the  light  of  day 

\Raising  his  hand, 

Margaret,  Miss  P.,  Lady  W. 
Oh,  Cecil ! 

Lord  K. 

[Murmurs J\  Oh,  Cecil  I 

Trower. 

[Drowsily. '\  Spare  us  revolting  detail  I 

[Bird  turtts  away — looks  from  one  to  the 
other  with  a  stony  smile. 

Bird. 
Ha  I  [A  pause.     All  laugh, 

Margaret. 
Is  Miss  Lawrence  pretty  ? 

[  With  a  side  glance  at  Trowbb. 

Lady  W. 
At  least  original. 

Margaret. 
Is  she  pretty,  Cecil  ?  [Still  looking  at  Trowkr. 

Bird. 
At  least  charming. 


54  THE  A  WAKENING 

Mabgaobt.' 
Is  she  pretty,  Jim  ? 

Trowbb. 
\Starting.'\  May  I  plead  that  I'm  but  a  poor  judge! 

Mabgabet. 

You  dare  not  \Touching  Mm  cm  chest. 

[They  look  into  each  other's  eyes, 

Troweb. 

[Smiling^  No,  I  dare  not.    [Looking  at  her.]   Well, 

yes — speaking  from  memory,  I  should  call  her  pretty. 

[Leans  back  in  his  chair,  and  closes  his  eyes  again. 

[Mabgabet  looks  a  little  cross.    She  gently 

removes  the  flower  she  has  placed  in  his 

buttonhole,  and  picks  at  it  in  her  lap. 

Miss  P.  notices  her. 

Miss  P. 

[In  a  low  voice.]  What  babies  some  people  are. 

[Mabgabet  shrugs  h&r  shovlders. 

Lady  W. 

Olive  reminds  me  always  of  some  lines  poor  War- 
ristor  was  fond  of  repeating.  I  don't  remember 
them  properly.  I  never  had  a  head  for  poetry,  but 
there  was  something  about  *'  unpractised  eyes." 

Teoweb. 

[Without  cTianging  his  attitude.]  "  Who  taught  this 
pl»Euling  to  unpractised  eyes  % " 

[Mabgabet   looks  at   him  angrily,   then 
tosses  the  flower  over  her  shoulder.     Miss 


THE  A  WAKENING  55 

1*RESC0TT  sees  Iter  and  catches  her  eye, 
then  raises  her  own  eyes  and  hands  eacr 
pressively^  as  one  should  say,  "  Tou  are 
a  fool  f  my  dear!" 

Lady  W. 

That's  it — that's  it — "  pleading  to  unpractised 
eyes."  That  quite  describes  poor  little  Olive. 
[Natively.]     Isn't  poetry  wonderful? 

Bird. 

[With  a  touch  of  mockery.]  "Wonderful — so  ex- 
pressive ! 

Lady  W. 

Really,  she's  quite  fascinating.  You'll  love  her, 
Margaret. 

Margaret. 

[With  a  courageous  smile.]  I'm  sure  I  shall,  dear 
Lady  Warristor. 

Lady  W.' 

She's  as  light-hearted  and  innocent  as  a  child,  and 
yet  at  times  she  gets  such  wise,  thoughtful  looks  in 
her  face. 

Trower. 

•*  Who  lent  thee,  child,  this  meditative  guise  ?  " 

[Margaret  rises  abruptly ,  and  walks  away 
with  a  stormy  brow  up  0.  Miss  Pres- 
cott's  eyes  follows  her. 

Lady  W. 

What  a  marvellous  memory  you  have,  Mr.  Trower. 
How  I  have  always  wished  I  could  quote  nicely. 


56  THE  A  WAKENING 

Lord  R. 

"  Meditative  guise  "  reminds  me  of  my  dear  old 
mother — a  sort  of  look  of  gentle  anxiety — and  you 
always  knew  it  wasn't  about  herself.  \Put8  cup  down 
on  table  up  R.,  and  lights  cigar  with  a  huge  sigh.] 
I*m  afraid  it  was  often  about  me. 

Miss  P. 
[Rise — crosses  to  Trowek — in  a  whisper  to  Trower.] 
Listen  to  that  dear  old  thing. 

[Trower  nods,  but  remains  in  the  same 
attitude.  Miss  P.  goes  to  Margaret 
up  KO. 

Miss  P. 

[In  a  low  voice  to  Margaret.]  I  ask  you  not  to  be 
a  ridiculous  person. 

Margaret. 

[A  little  brokenly.]  I  can't  help  it,  Molly.  He's 
been  so  strange  lately,  and  now  he's  positively 
raving  about  this  unknown  girl. 

Miss  P. 

Absurd  I  He  simply  quoted  a  line  of  stupid 
poetry. 

Margaret. 

He's  most  dangerous  when  he  quotes  poetry. 

Miss  P. 
Perhaps  you'd  like  to  go  away  behind  some  tree, 
and  have  a  good  old  silly  red-nosed  cry  all  about 
nothing. 

Margaret. 
Don't  be  so  offensive,  Molly. 


THE  A  WA  KEN  IN  G  57 

Miss  P. 

[Dramatically  raising  her  Tiands^  one  of  which  holds 
"her  workJ]  Why  am  I  fond  of  this  foolish  woman? 
I  ask  you. 

Margaset. 

[Giving  Tier  a  little  secret  embrace.]  Because  you're 
a  dear,  good  old  thing.  [She  is  noic  quite  recovered^ 
and  returns  to  the  group.]  Lady  Warristor,  we  want 
to  see  the  kitchen  gardens.     May  we  ? 

LadyW. 

[Rise^  go  R.  to  0.]  Of  course.  [To  Cecil,  who  is 
lying  on  his  hack.]     Come,  Cecil ;  don't  be  lazy. 

BlED. 

[Rising  slowly — goes  R.  and  up.]  Let  us  on!  I 
adore  kitchen  gardens,  they  mean  wall  fruit. 

[Goes  R.  Lady  W.  waits.  While  Mar- 
garet speaks  to  Trower,  Miss  P.  moves 
to  L.C. 

Margaret. 

Won*t  you  come,  Jim  ?  [Behind  his  chair. 

Teower. 

[Leaning  forward  and  speaking  vnth  mock  earnest' 
ness.]  Why  did  the  Shah  visit  Moscow  before  Paris  ? 

Margaret. 

I'm  sure  I  don*t  know. 

Lady  W. 
T  haven't  an  idea. 


58  THE  A  WA  KENING 

Miss  P. 
[  Who  is  sitting  and  working  indvstriously.l  I  ask  you. 

Trowbr. 

[^Leaning  hack  in  Ms  chair  and  closing  his  eyes."]    I 
must  really  think  it  out. 

[Margaret  pauses  for  a  moment^  then  she 
hurries  after  Cecil,  takes  his  arm,  and 
they  exeunt.  Lady  W.  lualks  slowly 
after  them.  Lord  E..  sighs  with  relief 
and  leans  hack  contentedly  in  his  chair. 

Lady  W. 

[Goes  up  R.C.,  pausing  at  entrance   R.]    Oome, 
Lord  Reginald ! 

[Lord  R.  rises  with  a  slight. groan  and 
looks  piteously  at  Miss  P. 

Lord  R. 
Must  I? 

Miss  P. 
Of  course.  [Laughs  slightly. 

[Lord  R,  marches  after  Lady  W.  and  they 

exeunt, 
[Trower  I'emalns  motionless^  and  Miss  P. 
knits  ind'udriously.  His  chair  is  next 
to  hers,  a  little  ahove.  After  a  pavse. 
Miss  P.  begins  to  hum  Marguerites 
spimiing-song  from  "  Faust. "  She  makes 
a  mistake  in  the  air. 

Trower. 
That's  wrong. 

Miss  P. 

Is  it  ?     Then  put  me  right,  great  master  I 


THE  A  WAKENING  59 

Trower. 
Not  I. 

Miss  P. 

I  thought  you  were  fussing  about  the  Shah. 

Trower. 
You  didn't  think  anything  of  the  kind. 

Miss  P. 

No,  I  didn't.     \S)tiTl  working^  without  looking  up."] 
I  was  wondering  what  your  thoughts  were. 

Trower. 

Having  no  thoughts  of  your  own,  you  women  are 
always  wondering  what  we  men  are  thinking  of. 

Miss  P. 
Would  it  profit  us  much  if  we  knew,  rude  man  ? 

Trower. 
[After  a  pmuse,]  No. 

Miss  P. 
I  admire  your  honesty. 

Trower. 

I  can  be  frank  with  you.     You're  an  exceptional 
woman. 

Miss  P. 

I  think  you  ought  to  be  frank  with  all  women, 
Jim.    My  sex  hasn't  been  particularly  unkind  to  you, 

Trower. 
That's  right,  my  dear  Molly,  bully  me. 


6o  THE  A  WAKENING 

Miss  P. 
Thank  Heaven,  that's  not  my  mission  in  lifai 

Trower. 
I  know  you  disapprove  of  me. 

Miss  P. 
Thoroughly. 

Trower. 
And  dislike  me. 

Miss  P. 

Unfortunately,  that  doesn't  follow. 

\Slight  pause.  Trower,  who  is  interested, 
is  leaning  forward  a  little.  Miss  P. 
continues  to  work. 

Trower. 

The  back  of  your  neck  expresses  many  things,  in- 
cluding uncompromising  disapproval. 

Miss  P. 
You  leave  the  back  of  my  neck  alone. 

Trower. 
If  you  insist. 

Miss  P. 
I  do. 

Trower. 

Go  on  with  what  you  are  saying.  ^ 

Miss  P. 

Which  means  that  you  wish  me  to  join  you  in  % 
discussion  of  yourself  as  a  moral  case. 


THE  A  WAKENING  61 


Tboweb. 
I  confess  the  egotism. 

Miss  P. 

[With  stidden  vehemence.]  As  a  moral  case  I  detest 
you.  You  are  a  sort  of  Juggernaut  in  trousers. 
When  I  see  a  woman  crying,  my  first  thought  is, 
"  Jim  Trower  must  have  passed  this  way." 

Trower. 

Now  you  are  very  indignant.  The  tip  of  your  ear 
is  turning  red. 

[Miss  Prescott  drops  her  work  and  rises, 
Teower  quickly  rises  and  stops  her ^  picks 
up  her  work  and  gives  it  to  her, 

Trower. 

Oh,  don't  go.  Don't  go — [Pauses,  She  looks  at 
him  indignantly] — I  beg  of  you. 

[Slight  pause — then  she  resumes  her  seat. 

Miss  P. 

I  stay  on  condition  that  you  don't  wander  over  me 
in  detail  as  if  I  were  a  horse. 

Trower. 

[Sitting  again.]  Dear  Molly,  I  apologise.  But, 
after  all,  it's  a  sort  of  compliment.  It  shows  that 
your  detail  interests  me. 

Miss  P. 

No  doubt  the  detail  of  a  mouse  is  interesting  to 
the  cat. 


62  THE  A  WAKENING 

Trower. 
Oh,  how  brutal ! 

Miss  P. 
The  subject  is  brutal. 

Trower. 
You've  no  heart,  Molly. 

Miss  P. 
Oh  yes,  I  have.      Since   frankness  is   going,  1*11 
confess  I  love — some  one — I  think  as  good  a  man  as 
there  is  in  the  world  ;  and  I  thank  heaven  he  doesn't 
know  it,  or  any  one  else  for  that  matter. 

Trower. 
\Sloioly!\  It  was  to  that  sort  of  man  I  suggested 
the  other  night  that  there  was  such  a  thing  as  the 
freemasonry  of  goodness,  and  the  simple-minded 
thing  couldn't  take  it  to  himself — wanted  to  pass 
the  application  to  me — to  me,  of  all  people. 

[Laughs  slightly. 
[She  looks  at  him. 
Miss  P. 
Guessing  is  dangerous,  and — and  a  little  vulgar. 

Trower. 
Very. 

Miss  P. 
I  always  think  that  to  wilfully  surprise  another's 
secret  is  a  sort  of  theft. 

Trower. 
Exactly.     Like  looking  through  a  keyhole.     [She 
looks  at  him — an  awkward  pause.]     [Rather  pained.] 
My  dear  Molly,  you  don't  suggest  that  I 


THE  A  WAKENING  63 

Miss  P. 

%■ 

[With  a  frank  smile.]  No,  I  don't ;  thank  goodness, 
with  all  your  faults,  you're  a  gentleman. 

[Lays  her  hand  on.  his — turns  away  from  him, 

Trower. 

[Retaining  her  hand.]  I  wonder  why  you're  so 
different  to-day — so  serious  and  severe.  I  won't  say 
it's  not  becoming. 

Miss  P. 

My  hand,  please.     I  want  to  finish  my  work. 

Trower. 

Only  a  moment  longer.  Your  knitting  needles 
confuse  me.  They  seem  to  tease  one  with  the 
domestic  idea,  and  taunt  one  with  the  emptiness  of 
one's  life. 

Miss  P. 
Oh,  come,  come ! 

Trower. 

It's  true,  my  dear ;  empty  and  hollow  as  a  drum, 
and  for  some  reason  you  bring  the  realisation  of  it 
home  to  me.  I've  known  you  for  seven  or  eight 
years  quite  without  knowing  you.  Probably  you 
don't  know  yourself,  but  as  you  sit  there,  making 
something  comfortable  for  a  sick  soldier,  breathing 
an  atmosphere  of  gracious,  wholesome,  womanly  good- 
ness, you  are  a  living  reproach  to  my  life. 

Miss  P. 

\^Not  looking  at  him,  and  as  if  quite  to  herself]  I'm 
getting   on — I'm   attracting   attention — at  last  I'm 


U  THE  A  WAKENING 

being  noticed.     [Slight  pause.^     Must  you  still  hold 
my  hand  ?  ^ 

Trower. 

[Slowly.]  Only  a  moment  longer. 

[He  raises  her  hand  to  his  lips. 

Miss  P. 
[As  before.]  I'm  being  made  love  to. 

Trower. 

[Softly.]  You're  just  a  great  dear — that's  what  you 
are,  Molly. 

[Miss  P.  sighs,  and  lets  her  head  fall  back 
slightly — thsn  svddenly  she  snatches  her 
hand  away  from  him  and  jumps  up 
laughing. 

Miss  P. 

He's  actually  making  love  to  me.  Well,  I  ask 
you !     Was  there  ever  such  a  person  ? 

Trower. 

[Vaguely — puts  chair  to  back  of  sofa,  L.]  Was  I 
making  love  to  you  ? 

Miss  P. 

And  so  that's  how  it's  done  ?  Well,  I'll  be  honest. 
I  can  almost  understand  the  poor  things  losing  their 
heads. 

Trower. 

I  was  very  sincere,  but — I  was  not  making  love 
to  you,  Molly. 


THE  A  WAKENING  65 

Miss  P. 

Not?  "Well,  it  gave  me  a  creepy  feeling,  anyway. 
What  must  it  be  when  you  do  make  love  ? 

.  Troweb. 

Don*t  chaff  me,  Molly.  Honestly,  I  shouldn't 
think  of  really  making  love  to  you.  I  should  dread 
your  sense  of  humour!  \WaXks  about,  goes  away 
R.O.  a  little.]  I  wish  I  could  explain  what  I've 
been  feeling  lately.  Something  has  come  over  me 
that  I  don't  understand. 

[She  goes  to  him  B>.0.  and  lays  a  hand 
on  his  arm. 

Miss  P. 
Margaret  is  in  the  garden,  Jim. 

Troweb. 
[Vaguely.]  Margaret? 

Miss  P. 
Yes. 

[They  hole  at  each  other — slight  pause. 

Tbowee. 

Fm  not  quite  certain  that  kitchen  gardens  wildly 
excite  me. 

Miss  P. 

[With  insistence.]  Margaret  adores  you. 

Troweb. 
[Without  enthusiasm.]  Yes. 


66  THE  A  WAKENING 

Miss  P. 
It's  so  easy  for  a  man  to  give  the  woman  who  loves 
him  a  little  happiness. 

Trower. 
I  know ;  but — we're  all  creatures  of  moods. 

Miss  P. 
\yery  earnestly.']  Jim,  for  God's  sake  don't  tell  me 
you're  out  of  love. 

Trower. 

I 

[He  turns  his  face  up  stage  to  avoid  her 
eyes,  and  sees  Olive  Lawrence,  who 
enters  conducted  by  a  butler.  Miss  P. 
does  not  see  Olive.  Trower  turns 
quickly  back  to  Miss  P.  and  says  : 
No,  my  dear  friend,  I  don't  think  I'm  out  of  love. 

Miss  P. 
[Heartily.]  I'm  so,  so  glad.     [Turn^  up  and  sees 
Olive.     To  Trower  as  Olive  comes  doicn  alone.]  This 
miist  be  Lady  Warristof 's  young  friend. 

[Olive  seeing  Jim,  puts  her  hand  to  her 
heart  and  hesitates  for  one  moment^ 
then  comes  down.  Miss  P.  goes  a  few 
steps  to  meet  her. 

Miss  P. 
You  are  Miss  Lawrence,  aren't  you  ? 

Olive. 
[Timidly.]  Yes. 

[Miss  P.  crosses  and  shakes  hands  with 
her. 


THE  A  WAKENING  67 

Miss  P. 
\Going  up  0.  a  little.]  Lady  Warristor  will  be  here 
presently.     She  is  showiDg  the  gardens  to  some  of 
our  friends.     You  know  Mr.  Trower,  don't  you  ? 

Trower. 
[Easily.]  I  hope  Miss  Lawrence  remembers  me. 
We  met  at  the  vicarage  earlier  in  the  year. 

[Crosses  to  her  L.O. 
Olive. 
Oh,  I  remember  very  well. 

[Miss  P.  moves  dovm  R.C.  arid  sits, 

*  Trower. 

Is  the  old  trout   still   in  the  pool  behind  your 
cottage  ? 

Olive. 
Yes,  he's  still  there.     I  saw  him  yesterday. 

Miss  P; 

A  trout? 

Trower. 
Yes  ;  there's  a  deep  pool  in  the  stream  there,  and 
it's  the  home  of  a  particularly  wily  old  trout.     There 
were  two,  but  has  it  not  been  written :  "  One  shall 
be  taken  and  the  other  left "  ? 

[The  ladies  laugh — Olive  a  little  nervously. 

Miss  P. 
You  took  the  other,  of  course. 

Trower. 
With  Miss  Lawrence's  assistance.     She  handles 
the  net  like  a  gillie. 


68  THE  A  WAKENING 

Olive. 

Oh,  I  didn't  help  much.  The  poor  thing  was 
quite  exhausted  when  I  got  the  net  under  it. 

Trowbr. 
And  then,  if  I  remember,  you  were  sorry  for  itL 

Olive. 

Tes.  I  felt  as  if  I  were  being  treacherous  to  an 
old  friend. 

Miss  P. 

I  think  111  tell  Lady  Warristor  you  are  here.  I 
know  they  all  want  to  play  croquet. 

Trower. 
Shall  I? 

Miss  P. 

No,  thanks.  \Rise,\  If  I  don't  move — [giving 
a  little  cry] — my  left  foot  will  go  to  sleep.  It 
always  does  if  I  sit  too  long  after  meals. 

[She  goes  R. 
Trower. 

[Lighting  a  cigarette.']  This  is  a  delightful  place, 
isn  t  it.  Miss  Lawrence  ? 

Olive. 

[Imitating  his  formal  tone.]      It's  beautiful,  Mr. 

Trower.     I've  known  it  all  my  life.     [Going  away 

L.O.]  [Exit  Miss  P. 

[Pause,    Trower  looks  round  to  see  */Miss 

P.  18  gone.     Olive  is  standing.     She 

also  looks  round.     Then  their  eyes  meet 

and  they  smile. 


THE  A  WAKENING  69 

Troweb. 
You  dear  child. 

Olivb. 

I'm  so  frightened,  Jim. 

Troweb. 
Of  what? 

Olivb. 
Of  being  here. 

Troweb. 
Why  ? 

Olivb. 

It's  all  very  well  to  be  with  you  when  no  one  else 
is  near.  That  is  very,  very  well ;  it  is  my  heaven. 
But  before  others  it  is  so  different.  I  feel  as  if  I 
were  changing  colour  every  moment.  Do  you  think 
that  lady  noticed  it  ? 

Teowbb. 

Why,  of  course  not. 

Olivb. 

I  lay  awake  nearly  all  night  wondering  if  I  ought 
to  come.     I  got  up  at  four  and  wrote  you  a  note. 

Trowbb. 
Where  is  it  ? 

Olivb.  *     , 

I  have  it  here.  \In  her  glove.]  To  slip  into  your 
hand  in  case  I  couldn't  speak  to  you  alone. 

Tboweb. 
Give  it  me. 


^o  THE  A  WA  KENJNG 

Olive. 

Not  for  worlds.  It's  far  too  stupid  for  a  great 
man  like  you  to  read.  It  only  asks  you  if  you  can 
get  away  to  come  to  tea  to-morrow.     Could  you  % 

Trowbr. 
Yes,  at  six. 

Olive. 

You  promise  to  come,  Jim  ? 

Trower. 
I  promise.     Do  let  me  have  the  little  letter, 

Olive. 

\Putting  Tier  hand  behind  her.]  But  there  is  no- 
thing in  it  but  what  I  have  been  saying — and — and 
— a  quotation.  I  was  unable  to  say  in  my  own  words 
what  I  felt,  and  so 

Trower. 

And  so  you  fell  back  upon  the  poeta  We  all  do 
it,  little  one.  Perhaps  that's  what  poets  were  given 
us  for.     The  letter.  [Stretches  out  his  hand. 

Olivb. 
[Timidly.]  Really? 

Trowbr. 
[Smiling.]  I  insist. 

[She  hands  him  the  letter^  then  turns  up 
stage,  her  back  to  audience.  Trower 
opens  the  letter — crosses  and  sits  L.  of 
R.O.  table.  He  reads  silently  for  a 
few  moments. 


THE  A  WAKENING  ^\ 

Trower. 
But  yoiir  own  words  are  beautifuL 

Olive. 
They  are  stupid  words.  \Qoing  to  him. 

Trower. 
They  are  much  too  good  for  me. 

[Slight  paiLse — he  looks  at  the  letter  again. 

Olive. 

[Moves  down  to  him.]  Do  you  like  the  quotation? 

Trower. 

[Beading  softly. 
*•  Where  my  heart  is — wherever  that  may  be — 
Might  I  but  follow — 
K  you  fly  thither  over  lane  and  lea, 
Oh,  honey  seeking  bee, 
Oh,  careless  swallow. 
Bid  one  for  whom  I  watch — keep  watch  for  me." 

[She  com£S  nearer  to  him,  behind  him, 
while  he  reads,  and  ichen  he  finishes, 
after  a  nervous  glance  round,  she  lets 
her  hand  rest  on  his  shoidder.  Without 
looking  up  he  takes  the  hand  and  holds 
it  in  his.  Pause.  Then  she  starts  ner- 
vously and  moves  away  from  him. 

Olive. 

Here  is  Lady  Warristor. 

[Trower  rises  and  crosses  L.O.  Olivb 
moves  back  to  C. 


7»  THE  A  WAKENING 

Trower. 

And  80  you  are  in  good  practice  at  croquet,  Miss 
Lawrence?  \Entefr  Lady  Warristor,  E,.,  and  Lady 
Margaret,  R.]  Well,  I  warn  you  some  of  our  friends 
here  play  very  well.     My  cousin  Cecil  is  a  nailer. 

Lady  W. 

\Coming  down  R.C.]  My  dear  child,  I'm  so  glad 
you've  come.  How  are  you,  dear?  \Ki88es  her,] 
This  is  Lady  Margaret  Staines.  [Margaret  bowa 
coldly f  R.]  Now  shall  we  make  up  the  set  ?  [Going 
to  Margaret.]  Will  you  play,  Margaret  ? 

Margaret. 
I'd  rather  not,  if  you  can  do  without  me,  dear. 

Enter  Cecil  Bird  with  croquet  bat.     He  aits 
making  a  horse  of  his  bat  up  R.C. 

[Olive  talks  to  Trower  with  her  back 
to  Bird. 

Bird. 

If  two  of  you  good  kind  people  don't  come  soon, 
there'll  be  no  match.  Lord  Reggie's  lying  on  hia 
back  and  beginning  to  snore. 

Lady  W. 
[To  Olive.]  You'll  play,  of  course,  dear  ? 

[Olive  turns  round. 

Bird. 
[Down  C]  Why,  there's  that  dear  Miss  Lawrence. 
[Down  B.O.     Going  to  her  and  taking  her  by  the 


THE  A  WAKENING  73 

hand.]  How  do  you  do?  [Shakes  hands,]  Come 
along;  you  and  I'll  what  they  call  challenge  the 
crowd. 

[Exeunt  Bird  and  Olive  up  B. 
[Lady  W.  followa  Cecil  and  Oliyb  up 
R.,  then  turns. 

Lady  W. 
Youll  play,  Mr.  Trower  ? 

Trowbr, 

I  shall  be 

Margaret. 

[Gross  'R.O.y  interrupting.]  He's  the  worst  player  io 
the  world,  Lady  Warristor.  You  make  the  fourth, 
and  we'll  come  and  look  on. 

Lady  W. 
As  you  please,  dear.     [(7oe8.]  [Exit  B.O. 

Margaret. 

[Turning  suddenly  on  Trower  with  flashing  eyes.] 
Tou  have  met  that  girl  before. 

Trower. 
Yes,  I  acknowledged  it. 

Margaret. 
It  had  to  be  dragged  out  of  yoo. 

Trower. 
Diditf 


74  THE  A  WAKENING 

Mabgabet. 
Yes,  it  did. 

Trower. 

[Gently.]  I'm  afraid  I  was  a  little  sleepy  after 
lunch. 

Margaret. 

You  have  flirted  with  her. 

Trower. 
[With  gentle  reproach.]  My  dear  Margaret  I 

Margaret. 

Any  one  with  half  an  eye  can  see  it.  [Trower 
sighs  resignedly  and  sinks  into  a  sofa  L.]  [Beating  one 
hand  against  the  other.]  I  won't  have  it — I  tell  you  I 
won't  have  it. 

Trower. 

My  dear  Margaret,  this  is  a  revelation, 

Margaret. 
It's  a  revelation  to  me — I  trusted  you. 

Trower. 

I  mean  it's  a  revelation  of  you.  I  never  would 
have  thought  you  capable  of  such  an  unreasonable 
outburst  of  temper. 

Margaret. 

It's  not  unreasonable.  You've  been  different  with 
me  for  some  time.  You've  been  distrait,  preoccupied, 
indifferent     It's  been  gradual,  but  now  I  can  trace 


THE  A  WAKENING  75 

it  from  your  visit  here  in  April.  Little  things 
don*t  escape  a  woman  who  loves.  When  that  girl's 
name  was  mentioned  just  now  you  folded  your  arms. 
When  you  were  asked  about  her  you  pretended  to  be 
asleep  to  avoid  acknowledging  you  knew  her.  After- 
wards you  lost  all  pretence  and  quoted  poetry  about 
her. 

Trower. 

It  was  very  harmless,  and  I've  quoted  volumes 
about  you. 

Margaret. 

I  decline  to  be  associated  in  your  mind  with  any 
other  woman. 

Trower. 

\Serenely!\  You  are  not,  my  dear  Margaret,  I 
assure  you.  \She  stands  looking  at  him  for  a  moment.^ 
Would  the  smoke  of  a  cigarette  occasion  further 
annoyance  ?     No  ? 

Margaret. 

Jim,  are  you  a  bad  man  ? 

Trower. 
That's  rather  a  poser,  isn't  it?     I  suppose,  like 
most  people,    I  am   part  good  and  part  bad.     But 
mostly  bad. 

[She  walks  up  stage — he  lights  cigarette. 
She  comes  down  to  him  0.  again, 

Margaret. 

Jim,  are  you  capable  of — of — [she  becomes  tear- 
full — of  treating  me  badly  ? 

Trower. 
I  hope  not,  dear  Margaret.    Sit  down.    [He  make* 


76  THE  A  WAKENING 

room  for  her  on  garden  seat — she  sits — the  handker- 
chief she  has  been  pulling  about  in  her  agitation  she 
now  uses  fcyr  her  eyes.']  Why,  you  are  actually 
crying. 

Margaret. 

I — I  can't  help  it. 

Troweb. 

The  proud,  self-contained  Lady  Margaret  actually 
crying  and  fussing  about  nothing. 

Margaret. 
Is  it  nothing  ? 

Troweb. 
Yes. 

J  Margaret. 

You  like  this  girl  ? 

Troweb. 
[Smiling.'\  Yes. 

Margaret. 
Ohl 

Troweb. 

Every  one  does,  she's  charming. 

Margaret. 
You've  been  trifling  with  hep, 

Trower. 

\StemlyJ\  Margaret!     How  dare  you  say  such  a 
thing? 

[Rises  indignantly. 


THE  A  WAKENING  77 

Mabgabet. 

\BMing^  Well,  say  it  isn't  true. 

Trower. 

I  absolutely  decline  to  answer  such  a  charge. 

[Turns  away  down  L. 

Margaret. 

Jim,  forgive  me.  But  women  have  instincts, 
and  it's  hard  to  know  when  we're  guided  by  in- 
stinct or  misguided  by  jealousy.  Do  say  at  least 
that  I've  been  misguided. 

Trowbb. 
Much  misguided. 

Margaret. 
Then  I  am  sorry. 

Trower. 

[Evasively.']  Let's  forget  all  about  it. 

[Coming  very  dose  to  him,  she  holds  his 
arm  with  both  hands. 

Margaret. 

I  know  there's  nothing  so  boring  to  a  man  as  a 
jealous  woman.  I'm  not  that  really,  Jim.  I'll  never 
be  again.  Only  since  Arthur  went  to  Africa,  we've 
had  so  much  happiness  that  lately  I've  got  into  a 
nervous  state  of  fright  lest  I  should  lose  it  You 
forgive  me,  Jim  ? 

Trower. 

Of  course  I  do.     [She  puts  her  face  up  to  he  kissed 


78  THE  A  WAKENING 

and,  gets  still  closer  to  Mm.']  [Loolcing  round,']  Be 
careful,  dear,  one  never  knows  where  people  are. 

{Kisses  her  lightly  and  coldly — cross  E.O. 

\Footman  enters  up  R.  vrith  telegram  on 
salver  and  goes  off  behind  house  R. 

Margaret, 
Make  me  a  promise,  Jim. 

Trower. 
What  is  it? 

Margaret. 

Just  to  humour  the  woman  you  love, 

Trower. 
Well? 

Margaret. 

Don't  see  that  girl  again. 

Trower 
Oh,  that's  sheer  nonsense. 

Margaret. 

Just  to  please  me.  We'll  go  for  a  long  walk 
and  she'll  be  gone  when  we  return.  [Pawse.]  It's 
nothing  to  ask, 

Trower. 

It's  something,  my  dear  Margaret,  for  a  man  to 
be  made  a  child  of. 

Margaret. 

Couldn't  you  be  a  child  in  one  little  thing  just  to 
give  me  pleasure  ? 


THE  A  WAKENING  79 

Trower. 
No ;  those  are  not  the  sort  of  fetters  a  man  can 
submit  to  from  any  woman. 

Margaret. 
Even  from  the  woman  he  professes  to  love  ? 

Trower. 
I  said  from  any  woman. 

Margaret. 
\C(mUnuing  as  if  he  fiadn't  spoken,]   Who  has  made 
sacrifices  for  him. 

Trower. 

My  dear  Margaret,  you  have  lost  for  the  time 
your  common  sense  when  you  talk  like  that.  Sacri- 
fices between  a  man  and  a  woman  in  our  position 
are  not  spoken  of,  or  thought  of.  Please  don't  let 
us  pursue  the  subject,  for  if  I  were  to  talk  bald 
common  sense  and  truth  you  would  dislike  me,  and 
I  should  certainly  dislike  myself. 

-Margaret. 
I  insist  on  your  promise  not  to  see  that  girl  again. 

Trower. 

[Betums   to   C]   This   is  a  dangerous  insistence. 

So  dangerous  that,  for  your  own  sake,  I  prefer  to 

leave  you.  [Going  wp  0. 

\IIe  goes.     She  stands  looking  after  him 

furiously.     He  meets  Miss  Prescott  up 

R.O.,   loho   has  entered  at  the  moment 

R.     She  is  agitated,  and  has  a  telegram 

in  her  hand. 


80  THE  A  WAKENING 

Miss  P. 
Where  are  you  going  ? 

Trower. 

Anywhere.     [Margaret  moves  away  up  L.]    Mar- 
garet isn't  very  companionable  just  now. 

Miss  P. 
You  mustn't  go.  [Dotrni  0. 

Trower. 
What's  the  matter  ?  [0. 

Miss  P. 
Bead.  [Hands  him  telegram — he  reads, 

Trower. 
Good  God !    You  must  tell  her. 

Miss  P. 

You  must  help  me.      [He  hesitates,]     Don't  be  a 
coward,  Jim. 

Margaret. 

[Coming  down   0.  between   them."]   What  are  you 
talking  of,  please  ?     I  don't  care  to  be  discussed. 

Miss  P. 
[Gently.']  We're  not  discussing  you,  dear. 

Margaret. 

[Looking  from  one  to  the  other.]  Well,  what's  the 
matter  ? 


THE  A  WAKENING  8l 

Miss  P. 
Darling,  you  must  be  prepared  for  bad  news. 

Margaret. 
Well— what  is  it  ?     What  is  it « 

Miss  P. 

[Bluntly  walks  away  R.C.  a  little.]  After  all,  I 
can't  break  it  to  you — I  can  only  tell  you.  Your 
husband  is  dead.  [Looking  in  front  of  Tier. 

Margaret. 

Dead?     [Her  hands  to  her  heaH.]     Arthur  dead? 

Miss  P. 

He  died  of  enteric  fever.  It's  official.  Your 
sister  wiieu  me  to  break  it  to  you. 

Margaret. 

[Looking  at  telegram.]  Arthur  dead?  [Patise.] 
Then  I'm  free.  [The  others  make  a  movement.]  I'm 
free !  Jim,  I'm  free  !  Do  you  hear — do  you  under- 
stand ?     I'm  a  free  woman. 

Miss  P. 

My  dear,  you  mustn't  talk  like  that.  But  you're 
upset — you  don't  know  what  you  are  saying. 

[Taking  her  up  0.  a  little. 

Margaret. 

[Releasing  herself]  But  I  do  know  what  I'm 
laying — and  what  does  it  matter  before  Jim  ?  You 
know  what  my  marriage  was  like — you  know  the 
sort  of  man  he  was. 

F 


82  THE  A  WAKENING 

Miss  P. 

Whatever  his  faults,  he's  dead — we  don't  speak  ill 
of  the  dead. 

Margaret. 

\W}w  is  much  excited.^  Molly,  you're  a  child. 
[Turns  to  Trower  and  speaks  to  Mm  in  a  lower  hut 
agitated  voice.]  Jim,  can  you  realise  it?  I'm  free, 
and  I  love  you !  And  we  were  nearly  quarrelling. 
How  truly  ridiculous !  Everything  is  different  now, 
dear,  isn't  it? 

Trower. 

Yes,  yes,  go  with  Molly.  If  the  others  come  and 
see  you  going  on  like  this  there'll  be  a  scandal 

Margaret. 

Yes,  I'll  go.  I'll  observe  the  proprieties.  But 
you'll  make  that  promise  now,  won't  you  ? 

Trower. 
[Firmly,]  For  Heaven's  sake,  Margaret 

Margaret. 
[Fiercely.]  Make  me  that  promise, 

Trower. 
No.  [OossR.O. 

Miss  P. 

Margaret,  dear,  in  the  name  of  decency 


[She  takes  Tier  arm.  Lady  Margaret 
allows  herself  to  be  led  away  up  0. 
Teower  remains  motionless. 


THE  A  WAKENING  83 

Maboaret. 

[Stopping^  to  Miss  P.]  Wait  there !  [STie  eome$ 
back  to  Trowee,  R.O.  In  a  hoarse  whisper]  You 
will  promise  ? 

Trower. 


No. 


[Lady  Margaret  draws  herself  up  and 
walks  firmly  back  to  Miss  P:,  wTio  passes 
her  arm  round  her^  and  Margaret  goes 
out  slowly,  leaving  Miss  P.  on  top  of 
steps. 

[Tbowes  remains  motionless — Curtain  falls,] 


END  OF  AOT  n 


1 

1 

Tea-tray  off  L. 

Tea  — two  cups 
and  saucers. 

Tea-cakes,  sugar 
and  milk  for 
Mrs.  Selby  off 
L.  Book  of 
Keats'  Poems 
on  chair  in 
window. 

Tea-cloth  in 
drawer  of  table 
by  window. 

1 

©' 

2 

CO 

a; 

Cabinet  of  china 
up  L. 

Two      vases     of 
flowers. 

Two   ornaments, 
photographs  on 
mantelpiece. 

Rug   in    front  of 
tire-place. 

Kettle      of     hot 
water  on  fire. 

Chair  in  front  of 
fire. 

Table     L.     C— 
Chair  above. 

Small  table  down 
L. 

Writing  materials, 
two    candle- 
sticks,     two 
emptj       glass 
vases  oi:  table. 

Book-shelf     and 
books    on    flat 
down  L.,lamp 
on  china  cabi- 
net. 

Set    brass     flre- 
irons. 

1 

a 

Table,  with  tea- 
cloth  in  drawer, 
in  window. 

Chair  R.  and  L. 
of  window. 

Books  and  work- 
basket  on  table. 

Basket  of  flowers 
on  platform. 

Grandfather's 
clock  R.  of  plat- 
form. 

Chair  L.  of  plat- 
form. 

Paint-table,  with 
paints,  brushes, 
&c.  C. 

Easel  with  pic- 
ture on  it  C. 

Pots  of  flowers 
on  floor  under 
window. 

1 
d 

Small  table  be- 
low door  with 
painting  mate- 
rials. 

Easel  against  flat. 

Piano,  with  vases 
of  flowers, 
drawings,  &c. 

Piano-stool  R.C. 

Vase,  statue, 
drawings,  &c., 
in  a  heap  down 
R. 

Settee  and  two 
cushions  down 
R. 

Black  helmet. 

Rocking-chair. 

Sword  hanging  on 
flat. 

Chair  behind 
couch. 

Lamp  on  piano. 

1 

§ 
|a 

©  o 

1 

p. 

Picture  over 
door  up 
stage. 

o'l 

Pictures  on 

wall. 
Gun     and 

bow    on 

wall. 
Tapestry 

from  ceil- 

ing      to 

floor. 

ACT   III 

Scene. — Olive's  home.  The  cottage  in  the  village.  A 
room  which,  although  typically  of  an  old-fashioned 
English  cottage  character,  is  full  of  memories  of 
the  Artist  ivho  decorated,  furnished,  and  lived  in 
it— OijIY^' 8  father.  The  principal  entrance  is  R.C. 
Blue  china  is  a  main  feature  in  the  decoration  of 
the  room.  In  the  corner  L.O.  is  a  collection  in 
two  large  Chippendale  cases, 

\It  is  late  in  the  afternoon  when  the  curtain 
rises.  Olive  is  discovered;  she  is  not 
easily  seen  as  her  hack  is  to  the  audience, 
and  she  is  sitting  in  a  large  chair  in  thf. 
window  C.  Before  her  is  a  small  easel, 
and  she  is  at  work  on  a  picture.  After  a 
pau^e  enter  Mrs.  Selby.  She  is  a  very 
neatly  dressed  old  woman,  wearing  old- 
fashioned  side  curls,  and  is  very  agreeahle 
to  look  upon.  She  carries  a  table-cloth^ 
which  she  spreads  on  a  small  table  well  up 
L.C.] 

Mrs.  S. 

How  is  the  picture  getting  on,  Miss  Olive  ? 

Olive. 

[Without  turning,"]  Badly.     [Sits  on  arm  of  settee 
R.     Mrs.  S.  spreads  the  cloth.]     Is  it  nearly  six? 


86  THE  A  WAKENING 

Mrs.  S. 

It  wants  fifteen  minutes  to.  [Grossing  R.O.  between 
Olive  and  easd.  She  puts  on  her  spectacles  with  great 
deliberation.  She  wears  them  low  on  her  nosey  and  has 
to  throw  her  head  back  to  look  at  the  picture.^  Well,  I 
think  it's  beautiful. 

Olivb. 

[Shortly.]  It's  horrid. 

Mbs.  S. 

Indeed,  Miss  Olive,  it  reminds  me  of  your  poor 
dear  father's  pictures— the   same  colouring,  so  to 


Olive. 

[Bise.]  Oh,  Mrs.  Selby,  how  dare  you  say  such  a 
thing  ?  Father  was  a  great  painter,  and  I'm  a  con- 
temptible little  failure. 

Mrs  S. 

Well,  I  like  it,  Miss  Olive ;  but  then  I'm  no  judga 

Olive. 

[Moving  back  to  R  and  looking  at  picture.']  It's  a 
beastly  picture. 

[Crosses   to  easel ;  begins  to  paint  it  out 

wrathfully. 

Mbs.  S. 
Oh,  Miss  Olive  1 

Olive. 

[Continuing  the  work  of  destruction,]  Beastly — 
beastly. 

Mbs.  a 
Oh,  Miss  Olive  I 


THE  A  WAKENING  •? 

Olive. 
Beastly,  perfectly  beastly — there ! 

Mrs.  S. 
Oh,  Miss  Olive !    A  whole  day's  work ! 

Olive. 

\Half  to  herself — going  to  sofa  B.  and  «/.]  I 
couldn't  have  let  him  see  it 

Mbs.  S. 
Who,  dearie? 

Olive. 

[Rise  and  crosses  to  easel."]  The  greatest  critic  in 
the  world. 

Mbs.  a 

Is  he  coming  to  tea  ? 

Olive. 
He  ia 

[She  is  putting  her  easel  away  R.  and  tidy- 
ing up  generally. 

Mrs.  S. 

It's  as  well  I  made  some  fresh  tea-cakes  this 
morning. 

Olive. 

[Puts  paint,  ^c,  away  up  R.O.]  He  graciously 
condescended  to  approve  of  your  tea-cakes  last 
April. 

[Puts  paint  table  away  up  R.     Mbs.  S. 
helps  her. 

Mbs.  S. 
Oh,  it's  Mr.  Trower. 


88  THE  A  WAKENING 

Olive. 

\T'hxmglitfuUy!\  I  don't  think  I'll  have  you  call 
him  Mr.  Trower — [Mrs.  S.  untying  her  apron] — ^it*a 
not  awesome  enough.  There  are  so  many  Misters  in 
the  world,  and  only  one  Great  Man.  Ah  ! — [jpleased 
mth  the  thought] — that's  it.  We  shall  speak  of  him 
as  the  Great  Man  !  For  instance  you  will  come  to 
me  and  say  :  "I  passed  the  Great  Man  in  the  village. 
Miss  Olive,  and  he  gave  me  a  beautiful  smile."  Or, 
*'  I'm  so  glad  the  Great  Man  liked  my  tea-cakes, 
Miss  Olive ;  it  was  very  kind  and  thoughtful  of 
him."     [She  laughs  merrily.]     Will  you  remember  ? 

Mrs.  S. 
Indeed  I  will.  Miss  Olive. 

J^She  takes  some  jloivers  from  up  0.  to  place 
on  the  tea-table. 

[Olive  arranges  cushion  on  sofa  R. 

Olive. 

No — no.  \Tdkes  them  from  her — crosses  to  table 
0.]    I'll  do  that.     You  shall  do  all  the  rest. 

[^Below  table, 
Mrs.  S. 
Very  well,  dearie. 

[Exit  Mrs.  Selbt,  L. 
[Olive  arranges  flowers  on  the  tea-table. 
She  hums  an  air ;  once  she  goes  to  a 
window  to  see  if  her  lover  is  coming. 
Mrs.  S.  returns,  carrying  the  tea-tray ; 
begins  to  lay  the  tea. 


THE  A  WAKENING  89 

Olive. 

\l8  arranging  flowers  in  a  vase  tvhich  she  has  got 
from  L.  table.  Suddenly  she  goes  up  C.  and  listens!). 
Listen!  There's  a  carriage  stopping.  He's  cornel 
[To  herself.^  I  knew  he'd  keep  his  promise.  \^Aloud,1 
I'll  just  tidy  my  hair. 

[Coming  down  0.  and  over  to  door  L. 

Mrs.  S. 

But^  dearie,  it's  beautiful.  [Moving  down  0. 

Olive. 

Only  one  hairpin  more.  Now,  will  you  open  the 
door — or  shall  Jane  ?  I  think  you  must — you  look 
80  sweet.     Jane's  good,  but  plain. 

[Olive  bustles  off  quickly  Iry  door  down  T*. 
Mrs.  S.  smooths  her  apron  and  gives  one 
little  look  in  the  glass  to  see  that  her 
side  curls  are  straight.  The  good  lady 
is  gently  excited  and  her  face  is  wreathed 
in  smiles.  There  is  a  knock  at  the  door. 
Mrs,  S.  opens  it. 

Mrs.  S. 

Come  in,  sir.  [Lady  Margaret  aiid  Miss  Prescott 
are  at  the  door — jpav^e.']  I — I  beg  your  pardon, 
ladies. 

Lady  M. 

Is  Miss  Lawrence  at  home  ? 
Mrs.  S. 
Yes,  ma'am ;  won't  you  come  in  ? 

[Lady  M.  and  Miss  P.  mter.     Mrs.  S 
closes  door  after  them  and  crosses  C. 


THE  AWAKENING 


Lady  M. 


Will  you  tell  Miss  Lawrence  that  Miss  Prescott 
and  Lady  Margaret  Staines  have  called  to  see  her  ? 

Mrs.  S. 

Miss  Olive  will  be  here  in  a  moment,  my  lady. 
She's  just  gone  to  smooth  her  hair.  I'll  bring  the 
tea  in. 

\Tdke8  the  basket  of  flowers  from  0.  and 
goes  off  L.     Exit  Mrs.  Selby,  L.TJ.E. 

Lady  M. 

[Looking  around  the  room  and  then  at  the  tea-tablej] 
Two  cups,  you  see !  One  for  Jim,  of  course.  How 
touching ! 

Miss  P. 

[Down  R.C.]  The  extra  one  may  be  for  the  local 
<5urate. 

Lady  M. 
We  shall  see. 

Miss  P. 
I  hope  you  will  remember  you  promised  me  to 
behave  nicely  to  this  little  girl,  otherwise  I  shouldn't 
have  come. 

Lady  M. 

I've  promised  myself  to  learn  the  truth. 

[Crosses  Miss  P.  to  R.O. 
[Olive  enters  quickly  with  a  glad  look, 

Olivb. 
Well? 

[Then  she  sees  the  ladies  and  stops  short. 


THE  A  WAKENING  91 

Miss  P. 

\To  Olive.]  How  do  you  do,  Miss  Lawrence? 
Lady  Margaret  and  I  thought  we'd  call  to  see  you 
as  we  were  passing. 

Lady  M. 
[^Bomng.]  Good  evening. 

[Go  to  her  C,  shake  hands  and  return 
again  to  RC. 

Olive. 

Good  evening.     I*m  very  pleased, 

«  [Return  to  L.O. 

Miss  P. 

[0.]  We've  heard  so  much  from  Lady  Warristor 
of  your  pretty  cottage.  [Goiiig  up  0.  a  little.]  It 
is  pretty,  isn't  it,  Margaret  ? 

Lady  M. 
Very. 

Miss  P. 

Such  charming  taste. 

Olive. 

The  taste  was  my  father's,  you  know.  He  was 
an  artist. 

Miss  P. 

One  can  see  that  at  a  glance, 

Olive. 

I  often  think  that  his  spirit  still  lives  here,  and 
that  is  why  I  am  never  lonely. 

[Miter  Mrs.  S.  with  tea  and  tea-cakes,  &c 


9S  THE  A  WAKENING 

Olive. 
\Going  to  chair  L.  of  table.]  Won't  you  sit  down 
ana  have  some  tea  ? 

Lady  M. 
[Sitting  R.]  No  tea,  thanks. 

[Olive  whispers  to  Mrs.  S.,  wh^  goes  and 
gets  another  cup  out  of  cabinet  up  L. 

Miss  P. 

[Aside  to  her.]  Don't  be  so  beastly  ungracious. 
r4Zow6^.J  I'll  have  some  tea,  if  you  please.  I'm  just 
aying  for  a  cup. 

[She  goes  to  Olive,  who  sits  at  tea-table 
and  officiates.  Mrs.  S.  brings  cup  down 
and  puts  it  on  table  R.  of  Olive,  she  then 
goes  over  to  fire  and  brings  kettle  from 
the  hob. 

Lady  M. 
No,  thanks. 

Olive. 
Sugar,  Miss  Prescott? 

Miss  P. 
No  sugar,  thanks — [Sits  L.  of  table"] — and  may  I 
take  one  of  those  delicious-looking  cakes  ? 

[Mrs.  S.  moves  around  to  R.  of  Olive  vnth 
kettle, 

Olive. 
Do.     They  are  Mrs.  Selby's  pride. 

[Sits  at  back  of  table, 
[Miss  P.  takes  a  cake  and  eats  heartily^ 
also  takes  her  tea.     Mrs.  S.  pours  water 
into  teapot,  and  then  goes  off  upjj. 


THE  A  WAKENING  93 

Miss  P. 
They're  too  nice.     Margaret,  you're  a  fooL 

Lady  M. 

I'm  afraid  we're  in  the  way.  You  were  expecting 
some  one,  Miss  Lawrence  ? 

Olivk 
Why  do  you  think  that,  Lady  Margaret? 

Lady  M. 

It  was  very  rude  of  me  to  notice,  no  doubt,  but 
there  were  two  cups. 

Miss  P. 
Extremely  rude. 

Olive. 

Not  at  all.  [Slight  patLse."]  Mr.  Trower  said  he 
might  call.  But — but  I  wasn't  sure — anyway  I'm 
glad  some  one  has  come  to  appreciate  Mrs.  Selby's 
cakes. 

Miss  P. 

You're  a  dear  child,  and  I  shall  have  another. 

[Takes  one. 
Lady  M. 

Strange  I  I  thought  it  might  be  Mr.  Trower, 

Miss  P. 

Hasn't  it  been  a  perfect  day.  Miss  Lawrence? 
Have  you  been  out  much  ? 


94  THE  A  WA  KENING 

Olive. 
No.    I*ve  been  trying  to  work  all  day. 

Miss  P. 
You  paint,  perhaps  ? 

Olive. 

Very  badly. 

Lady  M. 

You've  known  Mr.  Trower  a  long  time,  havtm'fc 
you? 

Olive. 

Only  a  few  months. 

Miss  P. 

The  artistic  impulse  is  often  hereditary,  I'm  sure 
you  paint  better  than  you  say. 

Olive. 
I  wish  I  could  think  so. 

Lady  M. 

I  think  Mr.  Trower  might  have  told  us  he  was 
coming,  and  given  us  an  opportunity  of 

Miss  P. 

\InterTupting^  We've  made  the  opportunity  for 
ourselves  I'd  like  to  see  some  of  your  work,  Miss 
Lawrence,  when  I  come  again.     Will  you  let  me  ? 

Olive. 
Of  course  I  will.     You  are  very  kind. 


THE  A  WAKENING  9^ 

Lady  M. 

I  suppose  you  find  living  in  this  out  of  the  way 
place  a  little  dull. 

Olive. 

Oh  no,  it's  very  nice. 

Lady  M. 

But  there  can't  be  many  pleasant  people  to  know. 

Olive. 
There  are  some. 

Lady  M. 

It  must  have  been  quite  exciting  when  Mr.  Trower 

was  staying  in  the  village. 

Olive. 
It  was  very  pleasant. 

Lady  M. 
Quite  a  new  experience  ? 

[Miss  P.  puis  cup  on  iable, 

Olive. 
Will  you  have  some  more  tea,  Miss  Prescottt 

Miss  P. 
No,  thank  you,  dear. 

Lady  M. 
Quite  a  new  experience  ? 

Olive. 
In  what  way,  Lady  Margaret  I 


^  THE  A  WAKENING 

Lady  M. 

Well,  you  must  suffer  from  a  dearth  of  men  down 
here. 

Olive. 

I  don't  think  I've  noticed  it. 

Lady  M. 

Anyway,  the  advent  of  so — so  amiahle  a  person 
must  have  been  a  godsend. 

Olive. 
Mr.  Trower  is  always  very  agreeable. 

Lady  M. 

He  is  very  popular  in  London,  so  one  can  under- 
stand his  being  at  least  equally  successful  here. 

Olive. 

I  suppose  so.  [Embarrassed  pattse. 

Lady  M. 

Did  he  come  to  see  you  often  ?  But  perhaps  yon 
think  the  question  rude  ? 

Olive. 
Do  you  think  it  rude.  Lady  Margaret? 

Miss  P. 
I  do.  [Slight  patise. 

Lady  M. 

It  isn't  intended  to  be.  You  see,  we  are  Mr, 
Trower's  most  intimate  friends,  and  are  naturally 
very  interested  in  his  doings. 


THE  A  WAKENING  97 

Miss  P. 

\To  Olivb.]  You  will  understand,  my  dear,  that 
Lady  Margaret  is  speaking  for  herself.  I  haven't 
the  least  interest  in  Mr.  Trower's  movements. 

Lady  M. 

[Resentfully  to  Miss  P.]  Thank  you,  dear,  you  are 
always  so  tactful  and  helpful.  You  needn't  trouble 
to  answer  my  question,  Miss  Lawrence,  if  it  em- 
barrasses you, 

Olive. 

Why  should  it,  Lady  Margaret? 

Lady  M. 
I'm  sure  I  don't  know. 

Olive. 

It — it  doesn't.  [Slight  pattse,]  Mr.  Trower  was 
kind  enough  to  call  sometimea 

Lady  M. 
And,  of  course,  you  met  him  out? 

Olive. 
Yes — sometimes^ 

Lady  M. 
Don't  you  think  he  talks  very  well  ? 

Olive. 
Very  welL 

Lady  M. 
And  reads  1 

Olive. 
Beads? 


yS  THE  A  WAKENING 

Lady  M. 
Poetry. 

Olive. 
Oh,  yes  I 

Lady  M. 

Are  you  fond  of  poetry  ? 

Olive. 
Yery. 

[Lady  Margaret  rises  and  walks  up  R.O. 
to  conceal  her  emotion.  She  is  clenching 
and  opening  her  hands.  Olive  remains 
still  looking  straight  in  front  of  her. 
Miss  P.  looks  from  one  to  the  other 
anxiously — pause — Miss  Presgott  rises 
and  moves  up  to  Margaret  up  0. 

Miss  P. 
I  really  think  we  must  go  now,  Margaret. 

Lady  M. 

[Recovered.']  In  a  minute.     Oh,  what  a  charming 
edition  of  Keats. 

[She  takes  up  a  hook  which  is  lying  an  a 

chair  in  tlie  window. 
[Olive's  lips  tighten,  hut  she  does  not  look 


Miss  P. 
Do  let  me  see  it. 

[Lady  M.  opens  the  hook  at  the  fly-leaf  ^ 
reads  what  is  there  y  and  her  face  darkens. 
She  hands  the  hook  to  Miss  P.,  who  is 
on  her  L. 


THE  A  WAKENING  99 

Miss  P. 

\Bjeading  in  a  low  voice.']  "To  Olive  from  Jim." 
Well — that  proves  nothing. 

[^HaTids  the  hook  hack  and  crosses  down  R. 

Lady  M. 

It  suggests  everything.  [She  throios  the  hook  aside 
and  comes  dmon  to  Olive,  O.j  Mr.  Trower  gave  you 
that  book  ? 

Olive. 

Yes.  [Rises  and  offers  her  chair  to  Lady  M.  Slight 
paiise,]     Won't  you  sit  down  again,  Lady  Margaret  ? 

Lady  M. 

Olive. 

[Moves  down  to  L.  corner  of  tahle?^  Pm  sorry.  I'm 
afraid  you  are  displeased. 

Lady  M. 

Probably  your  favourite  poem  of  Keats  is  the 
«*  Ode  to  the  Nightingale  "  ? 

Olive. 
Yes. 

Lady  M. 

Because  it  is  Mr.  Trower's  ? 

Olive. 
Because  I  think  it  the  best. 

Lady  M. 
I  was  rude  enough  to  look  at  the  inscription  in 


loo  THE  AWAKENING 

that  book.     I  seem  to  be  committed  to  rudeness  to- 
day. 

Olive. 

I'm  sure  you  wouldn't  intentionally  be  rude,  Lady 
Margaret. 

[Lady  M.  is  taken  aback;  Miss  P.  leans 
on  hack  of  R.  so/a. 

Miss  P. 
\Coming  down  L.]  I  ask  you,  Margaret,  to  exer- 
cise some  self-control.  \Fause, 
[Lady  M.  walha  a  little  way  R.  and  hack. 

Lady  M. 
\More  gently. \  I  don't  wish  to  be  horrid.     It  isn't 
like  me.     I  think  you'll  acknowledge  that,  Molly. 

Miss  P. 
Of  course  I  do,  dear.    I  assure  you,  Miss  Lawrence, 
Lady  Margaret  is  the  best-natured  creature  in  the 
world.     Come,  Margaret,  we  really  must  go. 

Lady  M. 

I  think  it  my  duty  first  to  tell  Miss  Lawrence, 
who  doesn't  know  the  world  as  we  do,  that  for  a 
man  like  Mr.  Trower  to  inscribe  a  book  to  her  in 
that  way,  isn't — isn't  right.  \Pau8e?^  It  isn't  done 
except  among  very  intimate  friends,  who  are  accus- 
tomed to  address  each  other  by  their  Christian 
names.  \Axokward  pause.  Impatiently. '\  Molly, 
you  know  it  isn't. 

Miss  P. 

Certainly,  my  dear ;  but  it  seems  to  me  that 
Mr.  Trower  is  the  proper  person  to  address  on  the 
subject.  [Olive  is  standing  with  her  head  bowed. 


THE  AWAKENING  loi 

Lady  M. 

\Tentatively^  Of  course  if  Miss  Lawrence  is 
accustomed  to  address  Mr.  Trower  by  his  Christian 
name — \Pause — receiving  no  reply  she  proceeds] — if 
they  have  reached  that  degree  of  intimacy — [Pause 
— moves  a  little  towards  Olive.]  I  think  you  might 
answer  my  question,  Miss  Lawrence. 

Olive. 

[Raising  her  head.]  What  question,  Lady  Mar- 
garet ? 

Lady  M. 

Do  you  and  Mr.  Trower  address  each  other  as — 
as  Jim — ^and  Olive  ?    That  is  your  name,  I  think  ? 
[Molly  inoves  down  R.  a  little. 

Olive. 

I  would  always  wish  to  address  Mr.  Trower  in 
any  way  that  he  prefers. 

Lady  M. 

[Angrily.]  That  is  only  a  long  way  of  saying  yes. 

[Going  up  C.     Pause. 
Miss  P. 

[TFz^^  sudden  determination  crosses  L.O.  and  shakes 
hands  with  her.]  Good  afternoon,  dear  Miss  Law- 
rence. Thank  you  so  much.  I've  enjoyed  my  tea 
enormously.  I'll  come  and  see  you  next  time  I'm 
at  Blair  House.  Of  course  you  may  stay  if  you  like, 
Margaret,  but  my  own  feeling  is [Going  up  C. 

Lady  M. 
\Interrupting — stopping  her  C]    Stay  with  me  only 


I02  THE  A  WAKENING 

two  minutes  more,  Molly.  \In  a  lower  voiee."]  I  beg 
you  in  the  name  of  our  friendship.  [  With  a  sign  of 
resignation  Miss  P.  crosses  and  sits  on  sofa  again  R.O. 
Lady  M.  seems  to  have  again  succeeded  in  controlling 
herself — crosses  to  R.  of  L.  fable.]  I  only  want  to 
say,  Miss  Lawrence,  that  if  I  have  seemed  unkind — 
I — I  am  sorry. 

Olive. 

[Distressed — goim^  to  her.]  Oh,  please  don't  say 
any  more,  Lady  Margaret. 

Lady  M. 
I  was  only  speaking  in  your  own  interest. 

Miss  P. 
I  hate  rot. 

Lady  M. 

You  know  I  was — partly.  [To  Molly.]  You  know 
it  is  not  a  good  thing  for  a  young  and  unpro- 
tected girl  like  Miss  Lawrence  to  receive  attentions 
which  mean  nothing  from  a  man  in  the  position  of 
Mr.  Trower. 

Olive. 

It  is  very  kind  of  you,  Lady  Margaret,  to  take 
an  interest  in — in  my  interests. 

Lady  M. 

Such  an  intimacy,  however  harmless — [pause — she 
looks  at  Olive] — however  innocent — [another  slight 
pause] — can  lead  to  no  good.  It  might  give  rise  to 
mistaken  ideas,  to — to  hopes  which — which  could 
never  be  realised.  Anyway,  it  is  certain  to  occasion 
gossip.  If  you  had  had  as  much  experience  of  the 
world  as  I  have,  Miss  Lawrence,  you  would  know 


THE  A  WAKENING  103 

that  it  is  very — very  ill-natured.     There  is  nothing 
80  easy  to  lose  as  one's  good  name. 

Olive. 
Yes! 

Lady  M. 

I  don't  blame  you — I  have  no  right  to.  But  I  do 
blame  Mr.  Trower — \Turning  to  Miss  P.] — and  I 
suppose  you'll  admit,  Molly,  I  have  that  right. 

Miss  P. 
Tell  him  so  then, 

Olive. 

"What  right,  Lady  Margaret? 

\Paiise.     Lady  M.  and  Miss  P.  look  ai 
each  other. 

Miss  P. 

[With  a  learning  gesture  to  Lady  M.]  The  right  of 
a  friend,  of  course. 

Lady  M. 

The  right  of  one  of  his  most  intimate  friends. 
Our  little  coterie  of  friends,  Miss  Lawrence,  are  like 
members  of  the  same  family.  We  stick  up  for  each 
other  and  criticise  each  other,  and,  if  necessary, 
blame  each  other,  just  like  brothers  and  sisters. 
And  none  of  us  could  possibly  approve  of  these— 
these  secret  visits  of  Mr.  Trower's  to  you — particu 
larly  as  he  will  be  getting  married  very  soon. 

Olive. 
[Turning  white."]  Married? 


104  THE  A  WAKENING 

Lady  M. 
Well  t  [Miss  Fbescx>it  itMi. 

Olivb. 
It's  not  true.  • 

Lady  M. 
Indeed  1 

Olivb. 
\Smiling  incredulously.']  He  would  have  told  m& 

Lady  M. 

[Quickly,  crosses  C]  Then  you  admit  there  is 
something  between  you  ? 

Olive. 
[Alarmed.]  I  don't  know  what  you  mean? 

Lady  M. 

[Fiercely,  going  to  Tier.]  That  there  is  something 
more  between  you  and  Mr.  Trower  than  poetry  and 
friendship. 

Olive. 

[Shrinking  away  from  L.]  I  can't — I  can't  talk  to 
you,  Lady  Margaret. 

Miss  P. 

[R.O., passionately.]  Stop,  Margaret  I  I  can't  stand 
it.  Look  at  that  child's  face.  It's  whiter  than  her 
frock.  [Note  :  Olivb  is  in  white. 


THE  AWAKENING  105 

Lady  M. 
It  only  shows  I'm  right. 

Miss  P. 

Gome  home,  then. 

[Olivb  motoes  to  fireplace. 

Lady  M. 
I  mean  to  know  for  certain. 

Miss  P. 

[Much  agitated.]  In  God's  name,  haven't  you  any 
heart? 

[Pointing  to  Olive,  who  has  covered  her 
face  with  her  hands. 

Lady  M. 

[  With  great  passion,  R.]  Heart !  Heart !  You 
dare  ask  me  that,  when  you  know  it's  breaking — 
torn  to  pieces.  Why  should  your  pity  go  to  others  % 
How  dare  you,  I  say — you  who  pretend  to  love  me? 

[Dovm  L.O. 

Miss  P. 

[Struggling  with  her  emotion^  up  R.C]  I  do  love 
you,  and  I  pity  you — I  pity  you  all — but  I  can't 
stand  it.  I  can't  help  anybody — I  must  go.  Give 
me  my  things.  [Lady  M.  hastily  hands  her  handker- 
chief, gloves,  ^c,  which  are  on  C.  table.]  I  wasn't 
made  for  this  sort  of  thing.  [Half  sobbing.]  I  could 
cry  myself  to  death — I  really  could.  I  only  ask  that 
you'll  all  be  kind  to  each  other ;  but  I've  endui'ed  all 


io6  THE  A  WAKENING 

I  can.     Don't  bother — I'll   walk  home.     I  r( 

couldn't  stay. 

[Miss  P.  makes  this  speech  as  one  who  only 
just  avoids  art  hysterical  attack  of  weep' 
ing.  Exit  Miss  P.,  E.. 
[Lady  M.  remains  perfectly  still  until 
Miss  P.  is  gone.  Olive  remains  L. 
She  has  removed  her  hands  from  her 
face,  and  is  supporting  herself  with  one 
Tiand  on  a  table  or  chair.  There  is  a 
considerable  pause  after  Miss  P.'s  exit. 

Lady  M. 

[R.  of  L.O.  table.]  Tell  me  the  truth,  Miss 
Lawrence ;  we  are  alone  now,  and  can  bare  our 
hearts  to  each  other  without  any  one  knowing.  If 
you  will  be  frank  with  me,  I  swear  that  no  one  shall 
ever  know  besides  ourselves,  and  I — I'll  be  a  friend 
to  you,  I  promise  you  I  will. 

Olive. 

[Rises.']  There  is  nothing  that  I  can  tell  you,  Lady 
Margaret. 

Lady  M. 

Will  you  answer  my  questions  ? 

Olive. 
I  can't — when — when  they  are  about  other  people. 

Lady  M. 
You  mean  about  Mr.  Trower  ? 

Olive. 
Yes. 


THE  A  WAKENING  I07 

Lady  M. 

Ill  ask  you  sometliing,  then,  quite  kindly  and 
without  any  anger — you  see  how  quiet  I  am — ^just 
as  one  woman  to  another.  Are  you  in  love  with 
him? 

Olive. 

[OossesR.]  I  can't  answer  you,  Lady  Margaret; 
I  can't  talk  with  you  like  this.  I  don't  want  to  be 
rude,  but  won't  you  go  away  now  ? 

Lady  M. 

Your  evasion  answers  me.  \Going  towards  her 
R.O.]  Oh,  you  foolish,  foolish  girl,  if  you  only 
knew!  He  has  made  love  to  you,  and  you  have 
listened  to  him — ^believed  him  ? 

Olfte. 

Please  go  away. 

Lady  M. 
[Coming  close  to  Tier.]  Tell  me. 

Olive. 

[Moving  to  Lady  Margaret,  for  tJve  first  time  sTiaw- 
ing  indifj nation.]  I'll  tell  you  nothing — answer  no- 
thing. I'll  not  discuss  Mr.  Trower  with  you — I'll 
not  lay  bare  my  heart  to  you. 

Lady  M. 
Good  God,  he's  not  your  lover? 

Olive. 
Please  go  away. 


lo8  THE  A  WAKENING 

Lady  M. 
Is  he  your  lover  ? 

Olive. 

Won't  you  please  leave  me  ? 

Lady  M. 
\With  increasing  vehemence.']  Answer  me. 

Olive. 

You  frighten  me.     If  you  won't  go,  I  must. 

[Turns  to  go  L, 
Lady  M. 

[Stopping  her  0.]  Wait.  [Catching  her  by  her  arm."] 

You  won't  trust  me  with  your  secret — 111  trust  you 

with  mine.    [Turning  away  down  L.C.]    He  is  my 

lover.  [There  is  a  pause, 

Olive. 

[In  a  hoarse  whisper.]  It's  not  true. 

Lady  M. 

[Going  up  to  her.]  It's  true ;  but  don't  look  at  me 
like  that.     I'm  sorry  I  was  obliged  to  tell  you. 

Olive. 

[  Wildly.]  It's  not  true.     It's  not  true.     Go  away, 
please.     It's  not  true.  [A  little  B. 

Lady  M. 
It's  been  true  for  over  a  year.     Ask  him. 

Olive. 
I  believe  in  him.     I  shall  die  believing  in  him. 


THE  A  WAKENING  109 

Lady  M. 
You  poor  little  fool !  \Moving  towards  her, 

Olive. 

[Shrinking  away  to  sofa,  B,.]  No — go  away — can't 
you  see  that  I  must  be  alone  ? 

[She  sits  on  couch  R.,  aTid  buries  her  face 
in  the  cushions.  Lady  Margaret  looks 
at  her  and  hesitates — pause — suddetily 
her  face  so/tens  and  she  is  drawn  sym- 
pathetically towards  the  little  figure 
on  the  conch.  She  goes  towards  her^ 
and  wh£n  near  stretches  out  her  hand 
as  if  to  touch  her,  TJien  her  mood 
changes,  her  face  hardens.  She  with- 
draws  her  hand.  She  takes  her  parasol 
and  slowly  leaves  the  room,  R.,  closing 
the  door  gently  after  her.  After  apavse, 
Olive  looks  up.  She  has  not  cried, 
but  there  is  a  look  of  pain  and  fear 
in  her  face.  She  rises,  and  mechani- 
cally puts  the  cushion  straight  on  the 
couch. 

Olive. 

[Sol.]  It's  a  lie.  [Goes  up  E.G.  and  looks  at 
door  R.]  I  believe  in  him  !  I  believe  in  him  !  [She 
clasps  her  hands,  which  are  still  trembling  slightly  ;  she 
smooths  her  hair  back.]  If  he  would  only  come !  [She 
goes  up  to  window,  there  she  picks  up  the  "  Keats  "  Lady 
M.  has  thrown  down  ;  she  smooths  the  pages  that  have 
been  turned  by  the  fall.]  I  must  believe  in  him — 
though  he  doesn't  come. 


I  lo  THE  A  WAKENING 

Erder  Mbs.  Selby,  L.    Crosses  to  L.O.  table, 

Mrs.  S. 
Shall  I  take  the  tea-things,  Miss  Olive  ? 

Olive. 

Yes,  please. 

Mrs.  S. 

[Behind  the  table.']  The  Great  Man  didn't  come 
after  all. 

Olive. 

The  Great  Man  didn't  come. 

Mrs.  S. 
Perhaps  he  forgot. 

Olivb, 
Perhaps  he  forgot. 

Mrs.  S. 

Men  promise  so  lightly — even  Great  Men,  don't 
they,  dearie  % 

Olive. 

[C,  obstinately  f  hut  with  a  little  catch  in  her  throat. "l 
I  believe  in  him. 

Mrs.  S. 

Of  course,  dear.  \Pic1iS  up  tea-tray."]  No  doubt  he'll 
come  to-morrow.  [Puts  tray  up  C]  Perhaps  you'd 
like  to  move  the  flowers  yourself,  dearie  ? 

Olive. 
Yes. 

[Is  below  table.     She  gathers  the  flowen 
from  the  tea-table. 


THE  A  WAKENING  ill 

Mrs.  S. 

\B.dnm8  to  table.  Seeing  Olive  closer. '\  What's 
the  matter.  Miss  Olive?  You  look  like  the  ghost  of 
yourself. 

Olive. 

I  am  the  ghost  of  myself — perhaps. 

[She  crosses  R.,  takes  the  jlowers  tu'R.,  and 
rearranges  them  in  the  vases.  Then 
her  head  droops  on  her  hands,  Mrs. 
Selby  watches  her  sympathetically  from 
the  table — pause.  Goes  wp — takes  up 
tea  things  again, 

Mrs.  S. 
You  could  write  him,  you  know,  dearie. 

\She  takes  the  tea-tray  and  exit  up  L, 

Olive. 
\BMing?^  It  was  a  lie.     I'll  write  to  him. 

^akes  writing  materials  and  ink  from 
L.  to  L.O.  table.  With  some  show  of 
energy  she  siti^  doicn  L.  of  table  to  write, 
Olive  hesitates  for  a  moment  and  then 
suddenly  begins  to  write  with  great 
rapidity  and  agitation.  After  finishing 
a  page  she  stops  and  reads  what  she 
has  written.  She  hesitates,  then  slowly 
tears  up  the  paper. 

Olive. 
[Pen  between  her  fingers  ;  suddenly  she  takes  a  sheet 


1 13  THE  A  WA  KENING 

of  paper  and  torites]  "Won't  you  come  to  me  before 

my  heart  breaks  ? 

[She  folds  the  paper ^  puts  it  in  an  en- 
velope, addresses  and  blots  it,  then  rises^ 
pushes  chair  hack.  She  comes  a  little 
down,  pressing  the  letter  against  her 
heart. 

Won't  you  come  to  me  before  my  heart  breaks  ? 

[Slight  pause. 
That  might  make  him  think  I  doubted  him,  which 
I  don't 

[She  looks  at  the  letter  and  puts  it  against 
her  cheek. 

I  can't  send  it. 

[Grosses  to  fire,  puts  letter  in  fire.     Rises. 
I  can't  even  cry. 

[Her  eyes  have  a  wild  strained  look.     At 
.  a  few  paces  from  the  mirror  she  sees  her 
refiection  and  stares  at  herself. 
Cry  a  little,  eyes,  won't  you  ? 

[Slie  utters  a  dry  gasping  sobf  and  turning 
towards  door  E..  walks  slowly  towards 
it,  her  head  thrown  back. 

Enter  Mrs.  Selby,  L. 

Mrs.  S. 
Where  are  you  going,  Miss  Olive  ? 

Olive. 
[Opening  door.l  Into  the  air. 


THE  A  WAKENING  II3 

Mrs.  S. 
Does  your  head  ache,  dearie  % 

Olivk. 
No,  I  don't  think  so. 

Mrs.  S. 
Shall  I  come  with  you  ? 

Olive. 

Na     I  think  I  must  go  alone. 

\Exii  Olive,  E.  Pause,  Mrs.  Sblby 
shuts  door.  Olive  appears  at  the  win- 
dow 0. 

Mrs.  S. 

[Opening  window.^  Be  careful,  dearie ;  the  pool  is 
deep. 

Olive. 

You  can  see  the  bottom  when  it  doesn't  rain. 

[Olive  disappears, 

[Mrs.   Selbt   stands   0.   at  the  toindow 

looking  out  for  some    moments.      She 

then  aymes  down    into   the   room   and 

busies  herself  putting  things  straight. 

Mrs.  S. 

[Thoughtfully.]  What  can  be  the  matter  with  the 
child? 

[She  returns  to  the  toindow  and  looks  ovi^ 
evidently  watching  Olive  with  earnest 
attention,    A,  considerable  pause,    Mrs. 


71 4  THE  AWAKENING 

Selby  puts  clofJi  from  L.O.  table  in 
drawer  of  table  in  window. 
[The  evening  shadows  are  falling.  An  old 
clock  in  the  room  strikes  three-quarters 
of  the  hour.  There  is  a  knock  at  the 
door,  but  *M.B,s.  Selby  does  not  hear — 
a  slight  pause — enter  Trower — Mbs. 
Selby  hears  him  and  turns. 

Trower. 

[R.O.]  Good  evening,  Mrs.  Selby.  Where  is  Miss 
Olive? 

Mrs.  S. 

[0.,  pointing.']  She  is  there,  sir. 

Trower. 
What  is  she  doing  ? 

Mrs.  S. 

[Coming  down  0.  a  little.]  Only  looking  into  the 
water.  But  she  seems  strange  to-night.  I'm 
worried  about  her. 

Trower. 
Has  anything  happened  ? 

Mrs.  S. 
Nothing,  sir — only  two  ladies  called. 

Trower. 
[Frovming.']  I  thought  so. 

Mrs.  S. 
And  Tm  afraid  there   was  some  angry  feeling, 


THE  A  WAKENING  1 1 5 

for  I  couldn't  help  hearing  their  voices  were  raised, 
and 

[Trower  tum»  quickly  and  eadts  R. 
[A  pause.     Then  he  is  seen  passing  out- 
side the  window  quickly.    Mrs.  Selby's 
eyes  follow  him.     Goes  to  window, 

Trower. 
[Outside.]  Olive! 

Olivb. 
[Outside,]  Jim  I 

Mrs.  S. 

[Comes  down  L.O.  She  gives  signs  of  a  gentle 
agitation — Sol]  Perhaps  the  Great  Man  loves  her. 

[  Very  softly  she  goes  L.  end  exits  L.U.E. 
just  as  Olive  and  Trower  jjoss  the 
window.     Slight  pause. 

Enter  Olive  and  Trower,  R.  ;  he  is  half  supporting 
her  with  his  right  arm.  She  comes  into  the  room 
while  he  remains  for  a  moment  to  close  the  door. 
She  turns  and  fa>ces  him.  He  goes  to  her,  look- 
ing at  her  earnestly.  He  crosses  and  puts  hat 
on  table,  L.O. 

Olive. 

[L.O.]  It  is  really  you.  I  thought  you  would 
never  come  again.  But  I  didn't  doubt  you — never 
for  a  moment. 

Trower. 

[0,]  What  were  you  doing  at  the  water  1 

Olive. 
Only  looking  in.     [  Very  nervously ,  with  a  touch  of 


1 16  THE  A  WAKENING 

suppressed  hysteria.']  I  thought  I  might  see  that  wily 
old  trout  that  even  you  couldn't  catch.  But  I  could 
see  nothing.     My  eyes  ache,  Jim. 

Trower. 
Why  do  your  eyes  ache,  little  one  ? 

Olivb. 
Because  I  can't  cry. 

Trowbb. 
Why  should  you  cry  ? 

Olive. 

Because   I  was  unhappy  until  you   came.     But 
you  know  I  didn't  doubt  you,  don't  you  ? 

Tbowes. 
Yes. 

Olivb. 

Say  that  you  love  me. 

[Stretching  out  her  arms  towards  him, 

Teower. 
I  love  you. 

[He  holds  her  in  his  arms. 

Olivb. 
I'm  tired. 

Trowbr. 
Lie  down  for  a  little  while. 

[Grosses  to  sofa  and  fixes  cushions, 

Olivb. 
No.    [Going  to  sofa,]    But  I'd  like  to  close  my 


THE  A  WAKENING  1 17 

eyes  just  for  a  minute  with  my  head  on  your  shoulder. 
May  I? 

\Sits  on  sofa. 
Trowkb. 
Of  course. 

[Sits  by  her. 
Olive. 

Sit  here,  then.  [Goes  to  the  couch.  He  sits^  she 
sits  beside  Mm,  closes  her  eyes,  and  reds  her  head  on 
his  shoulder.  He  passes  his  arm  round  her.^  How 
good  you  are  to  me. 

Trower. 

[Kissing  her  hand.]  You  mustn't  go  so  near  to 
the  water  again. 

Olive. 

I  promise.     Were  you  afraid  for  me  ? 

Trower. 
Yes. 

Olive. 

K  I  had  fallen  in,  you  would  have  been  sorry. 

Trowee. 
[With  a  shudder.']  Don't. 

[He  holds  her  closer  to  him. 
[Pause.     Her  eyes  are  closed.     Trower 
stares  in  front    of   him;  his  face  is 
haggard. 

Olive. 

[Dreamily.]  You  couldn't  say  that  you  loved  me 
unless  it  were  true. 

Trowes. 
No. 


1 18  THE  A  WAKENING 


Olive. 


[Raising  her  head.]  Jim,  I'm  so  happy  again. 
[Raising  herself.]  What  reason  had  Lady  Margaret 
for  telling  me  lies  ? 

Trowbb. 

Lady  Margaret? 

Olivb, 
Yes. 

Trowbiu 

What  did  she  tell  you  ? 


I  can't  say  it. 
Tell  me. 


Olivbl 

Troweb. 
Olive. 


I  didn't  mean  to  mention  it,  although  it  nearly 
killed  me.     I  didn't  mean  even  to  speak  of  it 

Trowee. 
Tell  me. 

Olive. 

She  said — that — that  you  were  her  lover.  [Trower 
rises,  crosses  0.]  You  are  angry.  [i2«se».]  But  I  didn't 
believe  it,  Jim.  I  didn't  even  ask  you  to  deny  it 
just  to  please  me,  did  I  ?  I  don't  ask  you  now — I 
don't  ask  you  to  say  anything.  [Pause,  She  looks  at 
him,  hut  lie  is  not  looking  at  her.  Then  she  adds  in  a 
low  voice]  We'll  never  speak  of  it  again,  dear. 

Trower. 
We  must  speak  of  it. 


THE  A  WAKENING  II9 

OnvB. 

No^  forgive  me,  and  don't  say  any  more. 

Trower. 
I  must — I  must. 

Olive. 

No,  no,  it's  unworthy  of  you  and  me. 

Tbower. 

\'Not  looking  ai  Tier,]  Lady  Margaret  spoke  the 
truth. 

Olivr 

[Quickly.]  No!  [She  trembles  and  stretches  out  her 
arms  as  if  to  ward  off  a  hlowJ]  No — take  it  back — it 
isn't  true. 

Teowee. 
It  is  true ! 

Olivb. 

No  !  [Slight  pause.]  Not  when  you  came  to  me. 
Years  ago,  perhaps;  but  not — not  when  you — not 
when  you  first  said  you  loved  me. 

Trowbb. 
It  was  true  then. 

[Olive's  arms  fall  to  her  side.  She  be- 
comes rigid.  Pause.  Trower  looks  at 
her  for  the  first  time  since  he  began  his 
confession  y  and  is  alarmed, 

Trower. 
[Going  to  her.]  Olive,  Olive. 

[He  stretches  out  his  arms  towards 
she  shrinks  away  from  him. 


1 20  THE  A  WA  KENING 


Olive. 


\Momng  hack  in  terrm^  as  he  advances.^  No,  no,  no  I 
[Trower  stops.^  Don't  come  near  me — I'm  frightened 
of  you.  Oh,  my  God  !  My  God !  What  shall  I  do  ? 
What  shall  I  do  ?  [Pattse — suddenly  she  comes  a  few 
paces  towards  him  and  stops.]  Say  it — [leans  on  back 
of  sofa] — isn't  true — or  kill  me.  [Paiise,  He  foldi 
his  arms  very  tightly  across  his  chest.]  Be  kind — 
be  a  little  kind. 

Trower. 

[Gently,  not  looking  at  her,  but  loith  authority.]  Sit 
down. 

Olive. 

[Weakly.]  Yes — yes — [she  sits  on  sofa  R.] — perhaps 
I  haven't  understood. 

[She  sits  at  the  end  of  the  couchf  looking  at 
him  vaguely. 

Trower. 
I  won't  lie  to  you — I  can't. 

Olivr 
No. 

Trower. 
Don't  look  at  me. 

Olive. 
I  beg  your  pardon.  [Sfie  looks  down, 

Trower. 

It  would  be  less  brutal  to  lie  to  you  than  to  tell 
you  the  truth,  but  I  can't  do  itl      I  have  lied  to 


THE  AWAKENING  I2t 

women  all  my  life — I,  who  have  never,  that  I  know 
of,  lied  to  a  man ;  but  I  can't  to  you — you  compel 
the  truth — perhaps  it  is  because  I  love  you.  You 
won't  understand  half  I  confess.  You  couldn't 
understand  the  miserable,  pleasure-seeking,  remorse- 
less life  led  by  such  an  egotist  as  I  have  been.  I 
have  told  many  women  that  I  loved  them,  knowing 
that  I  lied.  I  hadn't  even  the  excuse  of  mistaking 
passion  for  love.  Down  here  last  April  I  told  you 
that  I  loved  you.  I  lied.  It  wasn't  true  then.  It 
wasn't  true  tUl  yesterday — yesterday  when  you  came 
down  the  garden  at  Blair  House.  That  was  my 
awakening — too  late  for  forgiveness — or  is  it  not  too 
late  ?  God  knows.  To  a  man  or  woman  of  my  own 
world  I  could  perhaps  excuse  myself  of  everything 
except  my  sin  against  you.  With  many  of  us — not 
all,  thank  God — love  is  only  a  game — a  game  in 
which  each  plays  for  his  or  her  hand,  greedy  for 
passing  pleasure.  That  is  the  life  I  have  lived.  But 
I  have  repented — I  have  suffered  remorse.  I  have 
come  to-day  to  lay  my  wretched  life  at  your  feet :  to 
ask  you  not  to  forgive,  but  to  deal  mercifully  with 
me — to  make  what  you  can  of  me — to  be  my  wife. 
Don't  think  that  in  asking  you  to  marry  me  I  imagine 
I  am  making  atonement.  Don't  even  think  I  could 
deem  myself  a  worthy  husband  for  you.  I  only  know 
that  i  love  you,  and  that  my  confession  became  in- 
evitable from  the  moment  of  our  meeting  in  the 
garden  yesterday.  I  haven't  slept  since,  and  I  was 
late  in  coming  to  you  to-day  because  of  the  fear  that 
I  was  coming  to  hear  my  doom.  Olive,  Olive,  have 
you  any  mercy  ?     Speak  to  me — one  word. 

[Olive  tums^  loohs  down  at  him  for  a  mo- 
ment, rises  and  stands  in  front  of  couch. 


122  THE  A  WAKENING 

Olivb. 
There  is  nothing  to  say. 

Trower. 
[Rises?^  Pity. 

Olivb. 
Yes.     Go 

Troweb, 

Don't  send  me  away. 

Olivb. 
You  are  not  mine. 

Trower, 
Every  throb  of  my  heart  is  yours. 

Olive. 

\Leaning  with  Tier  left  hand  on  the  hack  of  the  eottchf 
waves  her  right  towards  the  door,^  Please. 

Trower. 
[iJwes.]  I  dare  not  leave  you  alona 

Olive. 
The  spirit  of  my  father  lives  here.     He  loved  me. 

Trower. 
I  may  come  again  ? 


THE  A  WAKENING  123 

Olive. 
Never  I 

Trower. 

But  I  would  watch  over  you. 

Olive. 
[Bitterly.]  I  know  the  way  of  the  world  now. 

Trower. 
Olive  I    [Olive  moves  towards  him.]    Have  mercy  I 

Olive. 

[Raising  her  hand.]     Stop  !     [She  raises  herself  to 
her  full  height,]     You — you  compromise  me  ! 

[Very  slowly  Trower  goes  R.  and  exits, 

shutting  door  after  him.     Olive  stands 

rigid  for  a  moment,  then  stretches  out 

her  hands  as  if  she  cannot  see,  and  walks 

two  paces.     Trower  slowly  passes  the 

window. 

[R.O.,  in  a  whisper-]    Father — you  can  hear  me, 

can't  you  ?     [A  little  louder.]  I  didn't  know,  dear — 

I  didn't  know. 

[She  gropes  her  way  to  the  wall  up  C.  and 
slides  doivn,  her  back  to  the  audience. 
She  lies  prone.  Suddenly  she  bursts 
into  sobs, "  A  pause. 

Curtain, 
OF  ACT  m 


ACT  IV 

ScnsNB — Saine  as  Act  /.     It  is  about  five  in  t7i§ 

afternoon. 

[On  curtain  rising  there  is  a  pavse.  Then 
the  main  door  opens  and  Trower  enters. 
He  is  dressed  for  the  afternoon,  and  still 
wears  his  hat  and  gloves.  Jarvis  fol- 
lows him  into  the  room.  Trower,  though 
as  carefully  groomed  as  always,  looks 
pale  and  ill.  Trowee  hands  Jarvis 
his  hat. 

Trower. 
Any  one  here  ? 

[Begins  to  take  gloves  offj  L.O. 

Jarvis. 

[Cross  0.]  Mr.  Harris,  the  election  agent,  and  two 
other  gentlemen,  sir. 

Trower. 
In  the  library  ? 

Jarvis. 
Yes,  sir. 

Trower, 

You'll  have  some  tea  sent  in  there. 
124 


THE  A  WAKENING  125 

Jarvis. 

Yes,  sir.  [Trower  hands  gloves  to  Jarvis.]  Are 
you  at  home,  sir  ? 

Trower. 

To  any  of  my  friends,  yes.  And  I  wish  to  know 
immediately  when  Miss  Prescott  calls.  Mr.  Harris 
won't  detain  me  long.     Any  letters  ? 

Jarvis. 
Several,  sir. 

[Trower  goes  to  his  desk,  R.,  and  eagerly 
turns  letters  over.  He  selects  the  largest 
envelope^  glances  at  the  handwriting^ 
hesitates  for  a  moment,  then  opens  it, 
Jarvis  watches  him  with  a  discreetly 
symimthetic  expression.  Trower  takes 
from  the  envelope  several  unopened  letters 
he  has  i<ent  to  Olive.  They  drop  from 
his  finger  a  on  to  the  desk. 

Trower. 

My  letters — unopened !  [He  looks  up  and  meets 
Jarvis's  eyes.  Harshly.']  What  the  devil  are  you 
staring  at,  Jarvis  ?     How  dare  you  I 

Jarvis. 

[Very  cut  up.]  I  beg  your  pardon,  sir — I  forgot 
myself.  \He  hurries  to  the  door,  L.]  I  had  no 
thought  of  being  impertinent.  I  beg  your  pardon, 
sir.  [Exit  Jarvis,  L. 

[Slight  pause. 
Trower. 
Jarvis  I  Jarvis! 

[Jarvis  appears  at  door  L.,  returns  to  L.O. 


126     -  THE  A  WAKENING 

Jabvis. 
Yes,  sir. 

Trower. 
[R.]  I  spoke  hastily,  Jarvis.     I'm  sorry, 

Jabyis. 
[L.O.]  O  sir,  I  beg  of  you 

Trower. 
You  mustn't  mind.     I  don't  think  I'm  very  well. 

Jarvis. 

I've  noticed  it  for  some  time ;  and  you'll  forgive 
me,  sir,  but  I've  been  anxious  about  you. 

Trower. 

\B.astily^  It's  nothing,  Jarvis.  You're  a  good 
fellow,  but  it's  nothing.  A  little  over-work,  perhaps, 
and  I  don't  sleep  well;  but  I'm  all  right.  That 
will  do.* 

Jarvis. 

Thank  you,  sir.  \Exii  Jarvis,  L. 

Trower. 

It's  nothing — nothing !  \Glenches  his  hands.']  Only 
that  it's  a  bore  to  carry  one's  heart  in  one's  face  for 
every  one  to  peer  at.  [He  is  struggling  to  master 
himself — he  goes  to  desk.]  It's  nothing,  my  good, 
kind  Jarvis,  at  all. 


THE  AWAKENING  127 

Bird. 

[Outside.]  All  right,  Jarvis  ;  you  needn't  bother. 
[Trower  puts  letters  in  his  pocket,  then 
lightly  brushes  his  eyes  with  his  hand' 
kerchief  J  and  begins  writing. 

Elder  Cecil  Bird. 

Bird. 
How  are  you,  Jim,  old  man  ? 

Trower. 

[Without  turning,  and  affecting  to  write.']  How  are 
you,  Cecil  ? 

Cecil. 

What  they  call — I'm  sure  I  don't  know  why — 
rumbo! 

Trower. 

[Turning  with  a  smile.]  Descriptive,  I  suppose,  of 
elephantine  health — [rises] — rhymes  with  Jumbo. 

\_Crosses  to  0. 
Bird. 

That  must  be  it.  You  were  always  a  genius. 
Well,  how  goes  it?  But — \looking  at  TitowEB 
seriously] — I  say,  old  man ! 

Trower. 
Well,  what  the  devil's  the  matter  ? 

Bird. 

That's  what  I  want  to  know.  You're  looking 
beastly  seedy. 


t2S  THE  A  WAKENING 

Trower. 

I  was  never  better  in  my  life,  so  that  subject  is 
closed. 

Bird. 

\Put8  his  hand  on  his  shoulder.]  I  am  sorry  I 
spoke,  but  I  am  purely  sympathetic — [stroking  his 
hat] — and  as  I  haven't  come  on  the  borrow,  I  may 
be  permitted  to  say  I'm  very  fond  of  you.  [Turning 
away.]     You've  been  very  good  to  me. 

Troweb. 
Hot ! 

Bird. 

'The  best  in  the  world. 

Trower. 

"You  will  oblige  me,  Cecil,  by  not  making  those 
stupid  remarks.  [Crosses  to  loriting-table  and  sits.]  I 
happen  to  be  a  sort  of  murderer,  so  please  shut  up. 
Now,  I  can  only  give  you  two  minutes.  No  less  a 
person  than  the  Conservative  agent  of  Parlington  is 
waiting  in  the  library. 

Bird. 

How  dull !  But  that  reminds  me  to  congratulate 
you.  Political  rumour  points  to  an  important  XJnder- 
Secretaryship  for  our  Jim.  The  cry  is,  "  Forward, 
James ! " 

Trower. 

[Laughing.]  That's  about  it. 

Bird. 
Well,  I'm  glad,  because  you  like  it.      To  borrow 


THE  A  WAKENING  129 

fche  language  of  a  racing  friend  of  mine,  "'Ave  a 
go,  Squire ! " 

Trower. 

All  I  ask  for,  my  dear  Cecil,  is  plenty  of  work. 
Now  I  must  really  send  you  away. 

Bird. 
[Amazed.]  But  is  that  all  you  sent  for  me  for? 

Troweb. 
Sent  for  you  ? 

Bird. 

Yes ;  I  had  your  note. 

Trower. 

[Rises,  crosses  C]  Oh  yes,  of  course ;  I  beg  your 
pardon,  I'm  losing  my  memory.  [Comes  to  Bird,  0., 
and  speaks  seriozisly.  Bird  is  sitting  ;  sits  near  himy 
C]     What  are  you  doing  with  yourself  ? 

Bird. 
[Innocently.']  Nothing,  dear  old  boy. 

Trower. 
Can  it  last? 

Bird. 

[In  the  same  tone.]  No,  dear  old  boy. 

Troweb. 
Any  plans? 

Bird. 
None,  dear  old  boy. 

Troweb. 
Bridge  ? 


I30  THE  A  WAKENING 

Bird. 

[With  a  touch  of  enthttsiasm.]  Ah,  what  a  game'. 
Last  night  I  made  it  no  trumps  on  five  to  the  Ace, 
Queen  of  Hearts,  the  King,  Queen,  Jack  of  Clubs. 

Trower. 

[Interrupting.]  Yes,  I  know ;  most  exciting,  but 
I've  no  time  for  it  now.  There  isn't  a  living  for  you 
in  Bridge,  anyway. 

Bird. 

There  might  have  been;  but — [ivith  deep  melan- 
choly] — unfortunately  there  are  those — who  forget 
— to  pay. 

Trower. 

Then  there  is  nothing  for  it  but  work  of  some  sort. 

Bird. 

Yes;  but  what  sort  of  work  can  I  do?  I'm  a 
martyr  to  self-distrust.  I  cannot  dig,  and  to  beg  I 
am — no,  I  can't  well  quote  that  to  you  of  all  people, 
dear  old  boy. 

Trower. 

IVe  found  you  a  place. 

Bird. 

[  With  a  grimace.]  A  place.    Dear  Jim,  that  sounds 

like 

Trower. 
A  position,  then. 

Bird. 

Worse.     Shall  we  say  genteel  employment? 


THE  A  WAKENING  1 3 1 

Trower. 

\AngT%ly^  riseSy  and  puts  chair  hack  at  desk  R.]  I've 
no  time  for  any  of  your  damned  affectations,  Cecil. 
If  you  can't  be  serious,  I  chuck  the  whole  thing. 

Bird. 

Forgive  me,  Jim.  I'm  really  sorry,  and  frightfully 
grateful.     Tell  me  more. 

Trowbb. 
Do  you  know  Koppinger?  [Returns  to  0. 

Bird. 
Know  the  name.     Who  is  he? 

Troweb. 
New  man  from  South  Africa, 

Bird. 
What  I     Another  of  them  ? 

Troweb. 
Yes. 

Bird. 

«  The  cry  is,  *  Still  they  come  I  *  * 

Troweb. 
A  devilish  good  thing  too. 

Bird. 
But  they  eat  up  the  old  acres  like  locusts. 

Trowbr. 
They  save  the  old  acres  from  the  jerry-builder. 


132  THE  A  WAKENING 

Bird. 
I  suppose  you  are  right.     You  generally  are. 

Teowee. 

Not  at  all ;  but  your  constant  sneer  at  new  people 
always  bores  me.  Take  Koppinger,  for  instance — a 
splendid  chap.  He's  roughed  it,  which  you  have 
never  done ;  made  sacrifices,  which  you  have  never 
done ;  used  his  brains,  which  you  have  never  done ; 
and  has  won  a  fortune.  Now  he  looks  for  some  of 
the  refinements  which  you  were  born  to  but  have 
never  deserved.  He  wants  to  surround  himself  and 
family  with  some  of  the  graces  of  life,  'Pen  my 
word,  I  see  nothing  unworthy  in  that. 

Bird. 
What  you  call  laudable  ambition. 

Trower. 

Exactly.  Well,  I  want  you  to  go  and  have  a  chat 
with  Koppinger. 

Bird. 

What  does  dear  old  Kop  want  with  met 

Troweb. 
Secretary. 

Bird. 

I  can  scarcely  address  an  envelope. 

Trower. 

If  that  were  true  it  wouldn't  matter.  You  know 
▼ery  well  what  you  can  do  for  him.     Put  him  into 


THE  A  WA  KENING  1 33 

the  right  Clubs^see  that  he  meets  the  right  people 
— show  him  round. 

Bird. 
\Goldly?^  What  you  call  run  him. 

Trower. 

That  sort  of  thing — social  guidance.  You'll  be 
able  to  teach  him  that  indispensable  accomplishment, 
Bridge. 

Bird. 

[Suddenly  beaming.]  Bridge  I  It's  been  the  dream 
of  my  life  to  teach  a  millionaire  that  noble  game. 

Trower. 
Then  you  know  something  about  horses. 

Bird. 
Don't  I ! 

Trower. 

Much  less  than  you  think,  but  sufficient  for  the 
purpose.     Koppinger  wants  his  own  racing-stable. 

Bird. 

[Breathless  with  joy  at  the  prospect^  rises.]  A 
racing-stable !     It's  too  splendid ! 

Trower. 
[Dryly.]  I  thought  you  would  say  so. 

Bird. 

*  [Crossing  to  R.]  Another  dream  of  my  life !  Will 
1  run  dear  old  Kop?  He  who  lives  shall  see.  [Walks 
the  stage.]     Kop's  going  to  be   a  —  success.     He's 


134  THE  AWAKENING 

going  to  roll  home.      Wait  till  you  see  me  what  you 
call  bring  old  Kop  past  the  bushes. 

Trower. 

That's  all  right ;  you  had  better  go  and  see  him 
now.     207  Belgrave  Square. 

Bird. 

I  will.  You  are  too  splendid,  Jim.  A  million 
thanks ! 

\Shdkes  his  hand.     He  takes  his  hat  and 
stick. 

Jarvis. 

[^Appears  at  door  and  an?iounces]  Miss  Prescott ! 

Enter  Miss  Prescott. 

Bird. 

[Shaking  her  hand.]  How  do  you  do — [crossing 
her  to  L.] — you  dear  thing?  I'm  in  a  frightful 
hurry,  but  I'll  give  you  a  good  tip.  Have  a  bit 
on  old  Kop !  [Exit  L. 

Miss  P. 
Well,  I  ask  you — Has  Cecil  gone  mad  ? 

Trower. 

[C]  Bother  Cecil !  You  have  something  to  propose. 
Say  you  have.  [Takes  her  hands. 

Miss  P. 
[L.O.]  Perhaps  I  have. 

Troweb. 

Will  you  be  a  perfect  angel — that  is,  be  yourself, 


THE  A  WAKENING  135 

and   wait  ten   minutes  for  me?     There   are   three 
useful  but  boring  men  waiting  for  me  in  the  library. 

Miss  P. 
All  right !     Be  off  with  you ! 

Trower. 
You  won't  mind  being  alone  ? 

\G(nng   to  desk  and  gathering  up  some 
papers. 

Miss  P. 
I'm  not  likely  to  be  alone  long.     Reggie  knew  I 
was  coming,  and  he's  taken  to  following  me  about 
like  an  old  Newfoundland  dog. 

Trower. 
Reggie  is  a  golden  creature,  but  I  must  have  you 
to  myself.  [Going  up  0.] 

Miss  P. 
Don't  worry.   I'll  get  rid  of  him.  [Exit  Trower,  0. 
[Listening  to  the  slam  of  the  front  door.]  There  he  is, 
of  course  1     Absurd  person. 

[Looks  in  the  glass  at  desk. 

Enter  Jabyis. 

Jarvis. 
Lord  Reginald  Dugdale  1 

Enter  Lord  Reginald. 

M188  P. 

[Affecting  surprise.]    You,  Reggie! 


[J^  Jabvis. 


136  THE  A  WAKENING 

Lord  K. 
\Affecting  mirjprise?^  Yon,  dear  friend! 

Miss  P. 
How  pleasant ! 

Lord  R. 

Delightful !     \They  shake  hands,  Caputs  doion  Ms 
hat  and  sits  L.  on  so/a  E..]     Where's  Jim  ? 

Miss  P. 

He's  engaged.     And  when  he's  disengaged,  hell 
be  engaged  with  me. 

Lord  B. 
Then  I'm  to  go? 

Miss  P. 

No,  no,  no  I     Sit  still  and  talk  to  me  in  the  mean- 
time. 

[Pause.     Suddenly  begins  to  laugh 

Lord  R. 
[Looking  up  surprised.]  You  are  amused. 

Miss  P. 
Yes.     Don't  you  think  we're  a  very  funny  pair? 

Lord  K. 
Are  we? 

Miss  P. 

Yes ;  we  meet  on  an  average  about  ten  times  a 
week,  and  yet  we  are  always  so  very  surprised. 

Lord  R. 

I  suppose  that  is  so,  though  it  has  never  struck 
me  before.     I'm  a  very  dull  person. 


THE  A  WA  KENING  1 37 

Miss  P. 

I  sometimes  think  we  must  have  fallen  into  a  habit 
of  following  each  other. 

Lord  B. 

No  ;  it's  my  fault,  dear  friend.  It  has  never  sug- 
gested itself  to  me  before,  but  I  see  it  now.  I  do 
follow  you ;  I  do  blunder  into  places  because  I  know 
you  are  there.  It  isn't  quite  cricket,  I  suppose. 
I'm  sorry. 

Miss  P. 

Oh,  Reggie,  don't  say  that, 

LOBD  B. 
I  know  I'm  a  frightful  bora 

Miss  P. 

You  are  the  only  person  who  would  dare  to  say 
BO  before  me. 

Lord  B. 

Ill  try  to  explain.  Of  course  I've  heaps  of  friends, 
and  I  hope  I'm  grateful,  but  loneliness  seems  to 
pursue  me  like  a  shadow.  I  sometimes  feel,  even  in 
a  crowd,  that  I  am  the  only  human  being  in  the 
world. 

Miss  P. 
Extraordinary  I 

Lord  B. 

I  never  feel  it  when  I  am  with  you,  dear  friend. 

Miss  P. 
Well,  I  ask  you 


138  THE  A  WAKENING 

Lord  R. 

When  I  am  with  you  I  am  perfectly  happy  sitting 
quite  still  without  uttering  a  word. 

Miss  P. 
You  often  do,  Reggie. 

Lord  R. 
IVe  confessed  to  being  a  bore. 

Miss  P. 

You  are  just  the  dearest  old  thing  in  the  world. 
There ! 

Lord  R. 

You  are  too  good. 

Miss  P. 

Reggie — \lo6king  down] — why  don't  you — [Pauae, 

Lord  R. 
Why  don't  I  what? 

Miss  P. 

[Abruptly.]  Nothing !  [Rises  and  goes  up  0.  Long 
pause,  as  she  shakes  her  fist  at  him — aside.]  Why 
doesn't  he  ?  [Alovd.]  Perfectly  happy,  Reggie,  sitting 
quite  still. 

Lord  R. 

Perfectly,  [Pause. 

Miss  P. 
Without  uttering  a  word. 

[Goes  right  up  to  back^  0. 


THE  A  WAKENING  139 

Lord  R. 

Yes.    \Turning  on  couch.]    Of  course,  1  must  be 
able  to  see  you. 

Miss  P. 

Oh,  seeing  me  is  part  of  the  cure,  is  it  ? 

[Coming  down  to  back  of  couch. 

Lord  R. 
And  hearing  your  voice. 

Miss  P. 
[Leaning  over  the  back  of  sofa  L.,  and  looking  at 
him.]  Then  you — you  must  really  like  me  a  little  ? 

Lord  R. 

[Embarrassed.]  "Well,  yes.    [Turns  to  her,]    Don't 
think  me  rude,  but  more  than  a  little. 

Miss  P. 
How  much,  for  instance  ? 

Lord  R. 

[Turning  aivay  from  her.]  It  would  be  impertinent 
of  me  to  tell  you.     You  would  think  so. 

Miss  P. 

[Crossing  C]    For  heaven's   sake,  Reggie,  don't 
thmk  I'm  so  touchy  as  all  that. 

Lord  R. 

How  much  ?    [Follmos  her  to  C]    Well,  more  than 
^more  than  I  can  say. 


Uo  THE  A  WAKENING 

Miss  P. 
Then  why  don't  you 

Lord  R. 
What,  dear  friend  ? 

Miss  P. 

Nothing  !  \LQoking  at  him.]  "  Eyes  have  they  and 
they  will  not  see  ;  ears  have  they  and  they  will  not 
hear." 

Lord  R. 

To  whom  are  you  alluding  ? 

Miss  P. 
To  you  for  one. 

Lord  B. 

I  am  a  fool,  am  I  not  ? 

Miss  P. 

Yes.  You  profess  to  like  me  more  than  you  can 
say — you  follow  me  about  everywhere — and  yet — 
[She  abruptly  breaks  off] — Reggie,  I  must  ask  you 
not  to  follow  me  about  any  more.  People  will  begin 
to  talk.  Perhaps  they  are  talking  already.  They 
will  think  you — ^you  care  very  much. 

Lord  R. 
[Earnestly — taking  her  Jiand.]  I  do,  dear  friend. 

Miss  P. 

[A  happy  smile  coming  into  her  face,  which  is  turned 
away  from  him.]  Well — [pause — she  is  disappointed] 
— you  had  better  go  now,  Reggie.  I  can't  stand 
any  more.    [Going  R.  a  little.]     I  have  one  of  my 


THE  AWAKENING  141 

nervous  attacks  coming  on.  You  may  think  it's 
temper — ^but — it's  not.  It's  simply  nerves.  Heaven 
knows  that  I've  given  you  more  encouragement  than 
a  really  modest  woman  should.  \Moving  to  R.  of 
desk.]     You  had  better  go  away. 

Lord  R. 
[Who  has  come  nearer.]  You  are  so  immeasurably 
above  me.     I  wouldn't  dare. 

Miss  P. 
[Still  impatiently.]   Tell  me  then  quickly,  before 
you  go,  what  you  wouldn't  dare. 

Lord  R. 
I  mean  I  haven't  the   courage  to  ask  you  to  be 
my  wife. 

Miss  P. 
If  you  will  find  the  courage  to  ask,  I  shall  never 
find  the  courage  to  refuse. 

[Moves  down  below  R.O.  table. 

Lord  R. 

Molly,  is  it  possible 

[Going  to  her  R.O.     He  slowly  kisses  Tver, 

Miss  P. 
[Disengages  herself,  wiping  her  eyes.]  Forgive  me, 
but  I  have  always  loved  you,  Reggie,  and  I  have 
never  been  kissed  by  a  man  before — except  pecks, 
which  don't  count. 

Enter  Trower,  0.,  comes  doton  0. 

Trower. 
Now  I'm  free.    Ah,  Reggie,  how  are  you  ?    [They 


142  THE  A  WAKENING 

shake  hands.    Looks  from  one  to  the  other.]    You  two 
haven't  been  quarrelling,  have  you  ? 

Miss  P. 

Quarrelling !      [Reggie  picks  up  his  hat  and  stick 
from  sofa  L.]     Reggie  and  1  ?     Well,  I  ask  you  1 

[Crosses  to  Reggie. 
Trower. 

[0.]  Forgive  me,  but  I  thought  you  looked  upset. 

Miss  P. 
[L.O.]  Shall  1  tell  him,  Reggie? 

Lord  R. 

[Hastily  going  up  to  L.]    When  I'm  gone ;  I'm 
frightfully  shy.    Good-bye,  Jim.    I'll  call  to-morrow. 

[Uxit  Reggie,  L. 
Trower. 
Good-bye,  Reggie.  [Turns. 

Miss  P. 
The  dear  I  [Looking  after  him, 

Trower. 
[R.C.     Going  eagerly  to  Miss  P.]  Well  ? 

Miss  P. 
Well? 

Trower. 

Tou  have  something  to  tell  me. 

Miss  P. 
Do  you  mean  about  myself  or  about  yon  ff 


THE  A  WAKENING  143 

Trower. 

Forgive  me ;  I'm  brutally  selfish,  but  I  can  only 
think  of  one  thing. 

Miss  P. 

Poor  old  Jim !  \Sits  on  couch  L.]  I  want  to 
know,  first  of  all,  what  you've  done  since  I  saw  you. 
You  were  going  down  there. 

Trower. 
[Sits  by  her  on  cotich  L.]  I  went 

Miss  F. 
Well? 

Trowbr. 
Twice. 

Miss  P. 

[SUg?it  jpauseJ]  You  saw  her  ? 

Trower. 
No  I 

[Says  this  slowly,  with  a  ring  of  unutter^ 
able  grief  in  his  voice. 

Miss  P. 
[Laying  her  hand  sympatheticcdly  on  his,\  Tell  me. 

Trower. 

Mrs.  Selby  answered  the  door.  Miss  Olive 
couldn't  see  me  then  or  at  any  time,  she  said.  She 
was  quite  well,  but  had  locked  herself  in  her  room. 
The  blinds  were  down. 

Miss  P. 
And  what  did  you  do  ? 


144  THE  A  WAKENING 

Trower. 

What  could  I  do  but  come  away,  baffled,  humili- 
ated, lower  in  my  own  sight  than  the  lowest  dog  I 
met  in  the  village. 

Miss  P. 
What  else  ? 

Trower. 

I  have  written,  of  course,  many  times. 

Miss  P. 
Without  reply  ? 

Trower. 

\B%Uerly^  Oh  no — I  had  a  reply  to-day. 

[Takes  tTie  returned  letters  from  his  pocket 

and  shows  them  to  Tier. 
[They  bend  over  them  for  a  moment  in 
silence.  Suddenly  Trower  bends  dovm 
and  covers  his  face  with  his  hands. 
Miss  P.  very  softly  rests  her  hand  on 
his  Jiead.  Trower  rises  and  ivalks  up 
to  desk  E,.  He  lays  the  letters  doion 
and  stands  for  a  few  moments  with  his 
back  to  Miss  P.  and  the  audience. 
Having  controlled  himself  h^  turns  and 
comes  down  a  little. 

[Molly  rises  and  crosses  0.  to  him. 

Forgive  me,  Molly.  I'm  afraid  I'm  an  awful  ass ; 
but  it's  a  terrible  thing  when  the  love  that  is  break- 
ing your  heart  is  outraged  in  that  sort  of  way. 

[Points  to  the  letters. 
Miss  P. 
[Speaking  very  earnestly  and  mth  growing  enthud- 


THE  AWAKENING  '   145 

flwm.]  You  suffer,  but  suffering  is  good  for  love. 
[C]  You  are  humiliated,  but  humiliation  is  good  for 
love.  You  wait,  you  fear,  you  dare  not  hope.  Your 
proud,  indifferent  heart  is  caught  and  melted  and 
humbled  to  the  dust.  You  are  capable  even  of 
tears  -  all  that  is  good  for  love 

Trower. 
Molly,  what  has  come  over  you  ? 

Miss  P. 
\Wiili  an  indeacrihahle  eloquence  of  gesture,]  I  ask 
you  I     Have  you  anything  more  to  tell  me  ? 

[Sits  so/a  Jj. 

Trower. 

[C]  Nothing.     My  resources  are  exhausted.     Pm 

waiting  for  you.     Really,  it's  a  little  absurd.     This 

child — this  little  country  girl — not  even  particularly 

pretty — do  you  think  her  pretty  ^ 

Miss  P. 

Oh,  yes. 

Trower. 

Well,  but  a  ridiculous  person  all  the  same,  occupy- 
ing but  a  small  amount  of  space — [he  is  talking 
dreamily  and  half  to  himself] — very  shy  and  retiring — 
rather  prone  to  silence,  but  with  a  voice  that  lingers 
in  one's  hearing,  and  eyes,  too,  that  speak — some- 
times— and  a  smile,  swift  and  sudden  as  a  sunbeam. 
[His  voice  has  been  low  and  caressing.  There  is  a 
slight  pause;  suddenly  he  strikes  himself  sharply  on  the 
breast  as  if  waking  himself  from  a  day-dream.  He 
turns  to  Miss  P.,  wTw  has  been  watching  and  listening 
to  him  with  a  sympathetic  smile.]  You  were  saying, 
Molly 


146  THE  A  WAKENING 

Miss  P. 
Nothing  at  the  moment. 

Trower. 
You  promised  to  help  me. 

Miss  P. 
I've  begun, 

Troweb. 

What  have  you  done  ? 

Miss  P. 
What  does  a  woman  generally  do  in  an  emergencj  I 

Trower. 

[Brings  chair  from  R.  desk  to  0.  and  sits.]  I  don't 
know.     Consults  her  bosom  friend,  perhaps. 

Miss  P. 
No. 

Trower, 
Buys  a  new  hat,  perhaps. 

Miss  P. 
No. 

Trower, 

Goes  to  her  favourite  palmist,  perhaps. 

Miss  P. 
No. 

Trower. 

My  imagination  is  exhausted.    What  does  she  dof 


THE  A  WAKENING  147 

Miss  P. 
She  invents  a  lie  suitable  to  the  occasion. 

Trower. 
Good  women? 

Miss  P, 
The  best ! 

Trower. 

\Wii}i  a  faint  smile,]  Shocking  I 

Miss  P. 

My  lie  came  to  me  this  morning  while  I  was 
having  my  early  tea.     I  thought  it  a  beauty. 

Trower. 

Do  give  me  an  opportunity  of  sharing  your  ad- 
miration. 

Miss  P. 

I  think  I  can  recall  the  very  words.  "  Mr.  Trower 
very  dangerously  ill.  He  repeats  your  name  con- 
stantly. I  think  you  should  come.  I  shall  be 
there." 

Trower. 

[Slowly,]  You  wrote  that  to  Olive  ? 

Miss  P. 
I  thought  it  wiser  to  telegraph  it. 

Trower. 
You  telegraphed  that  to  Olive  ? 

Miss  P. 
[^Riaes,  crosses  C]  I  telegraphed  those  words  to  Olive 


148  THE  A  WAKENING 

Lawrence   at   a   quarter   to   ten   this   morning.      I 
wouldn't  even  trust  my  maid  to  do  it. 

Trower. 
But  I*m  not  dangerously  ill. 

Miss  P. 

In  body  you're  not — that's  where  the  lie  comes 
in.  In  mind  you  are — that's  where  the  artfulness 
comes  in. 

Trower. 
She  won't  come. 

Miss  P. 

She  will  if  she  loves  you. 

Troweb. 

If  she  comes — ^which  she  won't — how  am  I  to  ex- 
plain the — the  well-intentioned  misrepresentation  ? 

Miss  P. 

[Ingenuously.]  Put  it  down  to  me,  of  course.  And, 
Jim,  be  firm.  Remember  that  all  nice  women  like 
the  man  to  be  the  master.  You  built  yourself  up  in 
this  girl's  heart  as  something  strong,  to  be  leaned 
upon.  Then  you  destroyed  the  edifice  and  left  her 
struggling  in  the  dark.  You  must  rebuild  it,  my 
dear  Jim. 

Trower. 

I  would  try — I  would  risk  it — if  she  would  only 
oome. 

Miss  P. 

Ill  bet  you  a  box  of  gloves  she  does. 


THE  A  WAKENING  149 

Trower. 
Done  I     If  she  comes,  when  do  you  think ? 

Miss  P. 

I  thought  of  that — [going  down  L.] — and  consulted 
the  ABC.  She  will  have  had  my  wire  about  twelve, 
taken  the  first  train,  which  is  due  at  Paddington  at 
6.5.     You  may  expect  her  within  half-an-hour. 

[Goes  to  window  L. 
Trower. 
[Wcdks  stage  restlessly.]  She  won't  come. 

Miss  P. 
She  will. 

Unter  Jarvis. 

Jarvis. 
Lady  Margaret  Staines. 

£nter  Lady  Margarbt. 

Lady  M. 

How  do  you  do,  dear  ? 

[To  Molly,  who  is  up  lu  She  and 
Molly  kiss. 

Miss  P. 
Jarvis  1 

[Goes  to  door  and  talks  aside  to  Jauvis. 
Margaret  and  Jim  advance  to  each 
other  and  shake  hands. 


ISO  THE  A  WAKENING 

Lady  M. 

I'm  afraid  I*m  a  late  visitor,  Jim,  but  I'm  going 
abroad  to-morrow  ;  I  thought  I'd  call. 

[Jarvis  exits  L. 
[Trower   staiis  slightly.      Every  one  is 

uncomfortable.     Pause. 
[Trower  moves  restlessly  about, 

Trower. 

Of  course,   I   ought  to   have  called,   Margaret; 

but  I 

Lady  M. 

Of  course  you  ought  not,  Jim.  Under  the  circum- 
stances I  can  only  see  my  most  intimate  friends. 
One  must  observe  the  proprieties,  which  I  thank 
you  for  pointing  out  to  me  at  Blair  House. 

Trower. 
I  am  sure  I  didn't  mean  it  unkindly. 

Lady  M. 

[^Quickly.']  I  know  you  didn't.  You  ^ere  most 
kind  I'm  only  sorry  that  I'm  so  ridiculously  im- 
pulsive. Do  you  think  I  outrage  etiquette  in  coming 
here  to-day  to  say  good-bye  ? 

Miss  P. 
Nonsense  j  of  course  not. 

Lady  M. 

By  the  way,  I  must  get  out  of  the  way  of  saying 
Jim.     The  world  is  so  censorious.     And  yet  I  can't 


THE  AWAKENING  151 

well  say  Mr.  Trower.     It  would  sound  so  common. 
What  about  James  % 

\She  says  this  perfectly  seriously.      Sits 

on  sofa  by  Molly. 
[Trower  looks  at  her  seriously,  hut  he 
suddenly  begins  to  laugh  nervously. 
Then  the  humour  of  the  thing  strikes 
the  others^  and  they  begin  to  laugh.  The 
laughter  increases  and  is  prolonged. 

Miss  P. 
James !     Well,  I  ask  you  I 

Trowbb. 

Too  funny  I 

Lady  M. 

[Serious  again."]  We  were  talking  of  my  impulsive- 
ness. It  really  used  to  be  dreadful.  Why,  on  one 
occasion,  when  we  were  staying  at  Blair  House,  I 
actually — but  Molly  knows — I  quite  lost  my  head; 
didn't  I,  dear? 

Miss  P. 

I  wish  you  wouldn't  talk  like  that.     It  hurts  me. 

Lady  M. 

I  wouldn't  hurt  you  for  worlds,  dear.  You  don't 
know  how  good  she's  been  to  me.  She  has  come  to 
me  every  day ;  no  woman  knows  how  really  good 
women  can  be  until  she's  in  trouble.  I  suppose  you 
good  people  are  going  to  Ascot. 

Miss  P. 
Don't,  Margaret. 


152  THE  A  WAKENING 

Lady  M. 
[InnocerUly.]  Don't  what,  dear  ? 

Miss  P. 
Don't  drop  back  into  that  conventional  tono. 

Lady  M. 
My  dear! 

Miss  P. 

It's  perfectly  horrid  of  you. 

Lady  M. 
Don't  fly  at  me,  dear. 

Troweb. 

May  I  express  the  earnest  hope  that  you  two  won't 
quarrel  ? 

Miss  P. 

We  won't.  [Eises  and  crosses  round  L.  of  sofa  to 
back.]  I'm  too  happy  to  quarrel,  even  with  Margaret. 
Give  me  a  kiss,  darling.  [Kisses  Mabgaret.]  I'm 
ashamed  to  be  so  happy  when  you  two  are  so  sad. 
But  I  can't  help  it.     I'm  going  to  marry  Reggie. 

Teoweb. 
[Pleased.]  Really  1 

Lady  M. 

Really  I  [Rises  and  goes  to  her  0.]  You  dear  old 
thing ! 

[Kisses  Tier  again. 
Miss  P. 

Yes ;  it's  quite  true.  When  he  asked  me,  I  didn't 
know  whether  to  laugh  or  cry,  and  oh  I  how  my 


THE  A  WAKENING  1 53 

heart  thumped,  just  as  if  I  had  run  up  four  flights 
of  stairs.  I  know  my  nose  turned  scarlet.  [Trower 
takes  up  mirror  from  table  and  holds  it  vp  for  Molly 
to  see  herself]  And  my  hair!  [It  is  tumbled.]  I 
ask  you  to  look  at  my  hair !  I  ask  you,  Jim ! 
[Going  up  R.]  I  must  go  to  your  room  and  make 
myself  possible. 

[Exit  R. 

[Slight  pause  after  Miss  P.'s  exit.     Then 

Lady    M.   crosses   to   R.C.,   nearer  to 

Trower,  who  is  R.  of  R.C.  tabUy  and 

speaks  very  rapidly. 

Lady  M. 

[Sits  at  desk.]  I  only  called  to  ask  you  not  to 
bother  about  me  !  [He  is  about  to  speak.]  No,  don't 
speak ;  don't  answer  me  at  all.  I  want  to  say  what's 
in  my  mind  before  Molly  comes  back.  So  you 
mustn't  be  at  all  uneasy,  or  make  any  effort  to  avoid 
me.  I'll  manage  so  that  we  won't  meet  for  some 
time  anyway,  and  without  people  noticing  it. 

Trower. 
My  dear  Margaret 

Lady  M.  . 

It  isn't  in  my  nature  to  keep  on  loving  a  man 
when  I  know  he  cares  for  some  one  else.  I  always 
chuck  when  the  pressure  comes — I  have  all  my 
life.  I  might  perhaps  have  made  something  of  poor 
Arthur  if  I  had  had  a  stronger  nature,  and  I  did 
stand  a  good  deal ;  but  when  that  Blanville  person 
appeared  on  the  scene  I  simply  chucked — just  as  I 
do  now,    Jim — without  any   ill-will.      [Rises  and 


r  54  THE  A  WAKENING 

crosses  L.O. ,  Trower  following  her.']  There !  that's 
all  I  had  to  say,  except  to  ask  you  if  you  do  arrange 
to  marry  some  one  you  will  write  me  a  line.  I 
shan't  mind  in  the  least  reading  it  in  a  letter  when 
I'm  alone;  but  I  should  very  seriously  object  to 
reading  it  suddenly  in  a  newspaper  at  breakfast 
before  other  people.     That  would  bore  me. 

Tboweb. 

Margaret,  we  can't  control  the  uncontrollable. 
Will  you  forgive  me  ? 

Lady  M. 

Freely!  [Takes  his  hand.]  Ill  tell  you  what 
we'U  do;  we'll  exchange  forgiveness,  divide  the 
blame,  and — [mth  a  touch  of  tenderness] — youll  be 
generous,  and  let  me  keep  all  the  memories! 

Miter  Miss  P.,  and  crosses  L.,  and  down  to  window. 
She  glances  at  the  others ^  then  discreetly  goes  up 
and  looks  out  of  the  window.  Lady  M.  and 
Trower  look  at  each  other  for  a  momentf  still 
with  clasped  hands. 

Lady  M. 
Good-bye,  Jim.     ^     [Shakes  hands  mth  him  again, 

Trowbb. 
Good-bye,  Margaret. 

Miss  P. 
[Coming  down  quicMy.]  There  is  a  cab  driving  up. 

[Moving  to  0. 


THE  AWAKENING  155 

Lady  M. 
I  don*t  want  a  cab.     [Going  up  towards  L.  door^ 
I  have  my  carriage. 

Miss  P. 
Of  course,  I  know,  dear.     [Aside  to  Trower,  0.] 
Go  in  there,  and  leave  everything  to  me. 

[Tbowee  goes  up  0. 
Trowbe. 

iJJp  0.]  Good-bye,  Margaret. 

Lady  M. 
[Up  L.]  Good-bye,  James. 

\He  shakes  his  head  at  her  with  a  emiUy 
and  exit  C. 

Miss  P. 

Margaret,  it  is  rather  awkward — it  is  she,  Olive 
Lawrence.  [Coming  dovm  to  Margaret. 

Lady  M. 

[First  frowning,  then  shrugging  her  ahoulders^ 
What  a  bore  for  me !  Never  mind ;  I'm  going  any- 
way. Good-bye,  dear;  come  and  see  me  before  I 
go  to-morrow.  [They  kiss. 

[Jarvis  opens  the  door  to  admit  Olivb. 
Olive  enters  timidly;  starts  hack  on 
seeing  Lady  M. 

Lady  M. 

[With  an  affectation  of  airy  cheer  fulness,"]  Good 
afternoon.  Miss  Lawrence.  [Grossing  L.]  Good- 
bye, Molly,  dear.     To-morrow,  then ! 

[JEsdU  Lady  M. 


i  56  T//E  A  WA  KENING 

Miss  P. 

\To  Olive.]  It  was  good  of  you  to  come.     It  was 
the  right  thing  to  do. 

\Takes  her  over  and  seats  Tier  by  vrriting-desk. 

Olivb. 
Is  he — ^is  he  better  ? 

Miss  P. 

I'm  going  to  see.     [Goiiig  up  0.]     Wait  here  for 
a  moment.  [Siniles,  and  exits  0. 

[Olive,  w?io  appears  to  be  rather  alarmed, 
remains  perfectly  still  for  a  few  moments. 
Rises.  Then  she  lets  her  eyes  wander 
round  the  room.  Presently  they  light 
upon  her  own  letters,  which  are  lying 
on  fJie  writing-table.  She  goes  a  little 
nearer  and  looks  at  them  with  curiosity 
and  mistrust. 

Enter  Trower  C,  comes  down  0. 

[Olive  raises  her  eyes  and  shrinks  hack. 
They  look  at  each  other  in  silence. 

Olive. 
Tnie  telegram  said  you  were  dangerously  ill. 

Trower. 
I  am  suffering  deeply — but  I  am  not  ill 

Olivb. 
It  was  an  untruth. 


THE  AWAKENING  157 

Troweu. 

It   was   the    untruth    of    a    very    noble-heai-ted 
woman. 

Olive. 
Her  untruth — and  yours. 

Trower. 

Not  mine.     I  knew  nothing  of  her  telegram  till 
a  few  minutes  ago. 

Olive. 

I'm  glad  you  are  not  ill,  and  wiU  go  now. 

[  With  a  movement  towards  0. 

Trower. 

\Quickly^  You  were  looking  at  those  letters  when 
I  came  in. 

Olive. 
\In  a  low  voice.]  Yes. 

Trower. 

Perhaps  it  occurred  to  you  as  a  surprisingly  brutal 
proceeding  to  have  returned  them  unopened. 

Olive. 
[Hanging  her  head  a  little.]  I  might — I — \Pauu$ 

Trower. 
You  might —  t 

Oliyb. 
Nothing. 


I  s&  THE  A  WAKENING 


Trower. 


Yes — something.  You  might  have  been  kinder 
and  burnt  them  unread  yourself.  You  might  have 
torn  them  into  the  smallest  of  fragments  and  tossed 
them  in  the  trout  stream.  You  might  have  con- 
sidered a  heart  filled  with  remorse  as  something 
sacred. 

Olive. 

\A  little  agitated.]  You — you  have  put  me  in  the 
wrong.     I — I  would  rather  go  now,  if  I  may. 


Trower. 

I  wish  to  ask  you  one  question  first.  Who  set 
you  up  to  be  so  implacable  a  judge  of  human  con- 
duct? I,  who  know  something  of  the  temptations 
of  a  man's  life,  judged  myself  harshly  enough ;  why 
do  you,  who  know  nothing,  judge  me  more  harshly  ? 


Olive. 

You  are  quite  right.  I  only  know  that  you  are 
placing  me  more  in  the  wrong,  and  that  I  would  like 
to  go  away  now. 

Trower. 

(Is  deeply  affected^  but  controls  himself.  Hoarsely.] 
Lift  your  face  that  I  may  see  it  once  more. 

[She  lifts  her  face.     He  f/azes  at  her.    Sud- 
denly h£  seizes  her  in  his  arms. 


THE  A  WAKENING  159 

Trower. 
You  are  mine — mine. 

Olive. 
\Itelea8ing  Jiefrself^  No,  no,  no  I 

Troweb. 

i  beg  your  pardon.  \Goes  to  the  hell  and  rings. 
Comes  doivn  L.C.  and  does  not  look  at  her  again.]  I 
have  rung.     Jarvis  is  waiting  to  let  you  out. 

[Olive  looks  at.  hx:'A^  goes  up  B..C.  a  little, 
then  smftly  and  silently,  unseen  hy  him, 
goes  to  writing-table  R.,  secures  the 
letters,  and  conceals  them  in  her  bosom. 

Olivb. 

[Gently,]  Good-bye. 

[Moves  towards  door  L.O. 

Trower. 

Good-bye.     [Below  sofa  L.]     God  bless  you. 

[Olive  stops  for  a  moment  up  L.C,  then 
svddenly  comes  down  to  him.  The  love 
of  him  Tias  come  back  to  her  fa^.  SJie 
comes  dovm  L.C.  to  him. 

Olive. 
Would  Mr.  Jarvis  know — if  you  kissed  me — Jim  ? 
[He  turns   and  looks  at  her;  she  looks 
gladly  in  his  eyes. 


i6o  THE  A  WAKENING 

Trowbr. 
OUvel 

[He  sinks  on  his  kneeSf  catching  at  Tier 
hands.  She  sinks  on  the  couch  L.,  her 
arms  round  his  head, 

Olive. 
Jim — Jim — 

[Her  face  radiant  as  she  bends  over  him. 


Slow  Curtain. 


COMEDY  SKETCHES 

By  Julian  i^iurgis 

A  collection  of  short  plays  suited  for  amateur  theatricals  or  high-class 
vaudeville,  easy  to  produce  and  of  high  quality.  Recommended  especially 
(or  parlor  performance. 

CONTENTS 

Apples.     One  male,  one  female. 
Fire  Flies.     One  male,  one  female. 
Heather.     One  male,  qne  female. 
Picking  up  the  Pieces.     One  male,  one  female. 
Half-Way  to  Arcady.     One  male,  one  female. 
Mabel's  Holy  Day.     Two  males,  one  female. 
Twenty  minutes  each. 
Price,  2^  cents 

IN  OFFICE  HOURS 

And  Other  Sketches 

By  Evelyn  Greenleaf  Sutherland 

CONTENTS 

In  Office  Hours.     Comedy  Sketch  in  One  Act,  five  males,  four 

females. 
A  Quilting  Party  in  the  Thirties.     Outline  Sketch  for  Music, 

six  males,  four  females,  and  chorus. 
In  Aunt  Chloe's  Cabin.     Negro  Comedy  Sketch  in  One  Act, 

seventeen  female  characters  and  "  supers." 
The  Story  of  a  Famous  Wedding.     Outline  Sketch  for  Music 
and  Dancing,  six  males,  four  females. 
Price,  2^  cents 

THE  SOUP  TUREEN 

And  Other  Duologues 
A  collection  of  short  plays  for  two  and  three  characters.    Good  quality, 
high  tone  and  confidently  offered  to  the  best  taste. 

CONTENTS 
The  Soup  Tureen.     One  male,  two  females. 
Lelia.     One  male,  one  female. 
The  Unlucky  Star.     Two  males. 
The  Serenade.     Two  females. 

Play  twenty  minutes  each. 
Price,  2§  cents 

HOLIDAY  DIALOGUES  FROM  DICKENS 

Arranged  by  W.  E.  Fette 

Comprising  selections  from  «  The   Christmas  Carol,"  "  The  Cricket  on 

the  Hearth,"   "  The  Battle   of  Life,"  etc.,  arranged  in  a  series  of  scenes 

to  be  given  either  singly  or  together,  as  an  extended  entertainment.     For 

the  celebration  of  Christmas  no  better  material  can  be  found. 

Price,  25  cents 


WILLOWDALE 

A  Play  in  Three  Acts  by  Arthur  Lewis  Tubbs.  Seven  males,  five  fe- 
males. Scenery,  two  easy  interiors  ;  costumes,  modern.  This  is  a  play  of 
exceptional  interest  and  power.  Admirably  suited  for  amateur  perform- 
ance, all  the  parts  being  good.  Godfrey  is  an  admirableheavy  part,  Joel, 
Lem  and  Simon  capital  character  parts.  Mis'  Hazey  a  novel  eccentric  bit, 
and  Oleander  a  part  of  screaming  comedy.  Plays  two  hours  and  a  quarter. 
Price,  2j  cents 

THE  VILLAGE  SCHOOL  MA'AM 

A  Play  in  Three  Acts  by  Arthur  Lewis  Tubbs.  Six  males,  five  females. 
Costumes,  modern  ;  scenes,  an  interior  and  an  exterior,  or  can  be  played  in 
two  interiors.  Plays  two  hours  or  more.  Combines  a  strong  sympathetic 
interest  with  an  abundance  of  comedy.  The  parts  are  unusually  equal  in 
opportunity,  are  vigorously  drawn  and  easily  actable.  No  dialect  parts, 
but  plenty  of  variety  in  the  comedy  roles  and  lots  of  amusing  incident. 
Can  be  strongly  recommended.  Price^  2^  cents 

BAR  HAVEN 

A  Comedy  in  Three  Acts  by  Gordan  V.  May.  Six  males,  five  females. 
Costumes,  modern  ;  scenery,  two  interiors  and  an  exterior,  not  difficult. 
Plays  two  hours.  An  excellent  piece,  mingling  a  strongly  serious  interest 
with  abundant  humor.  Ofifers  a  great  variety  of  good  parts  of  nearly 
equal  opportunity.  Admirably  suited  for  amateur  performance,  and 
strongly  recommended.  Price,  2^  cents 

DOWN  IN  MAINE 

A  Drama  in  Four  Acts  by  Charles  Townsend.  Eight  male,  four  female 
characters.  This  play  has  no  villains,  no  tangled  plot  nor  sentimental 
love  scenes;  yet  the  climaxes  are  strong,  the  action  brisk,  and  the  humor 
genial,  and  the  characters  strongly  drawn.  *  Can  be  played  in  any  hall ; 
scenery,  of  the  easiest  sort.  Properties,  few  and  simple ;  costumes, 
modern.     Plays  a  full  evening.     Strongly  recommended.      Price^  2^  cents 

HIGBEE  OF  HARVARD 

A  Comedy  Drama  in  Three  Acts  by  Charles  Townsend.  Five  males, 
four  females.  Modern  costumes  ;  scenes,  two  interiors  and  an  exterior — 
the  latter  may  be  played  as  well  in  an  interior,  if  preferred.  Plays  a  full 
evening.  A  clever,  up-to-date  piece,  well  suited  for  amateur  performance. 
No  small  parts;  all  good.  Good  plot,  full  of  incident,  no  love  mn king, 
interest  strong  and  sustained.         Price,  ij  cents 

HOW  JIM  MADE  GOOD 

A  Comedy  Drama  in  Four  Acts  by  Charles  S.  Bird.  Seven  males, 
three  females ;  two  male  parts  can  be  doubled.  Costumes,  modern ; 
scenery,  three  interiors.  Plays  two  hours.  An  unusually  sjmipathetic 
play,  well  suited  to  amat^rs.  Clean  and  easy  to  get  up.  Recommended 
to  high  schools.     All  the  parts  are  good.  Price,  23  cents 


A  REGIMENT  OF  TWO 

A  Farcical  Comedy  in  Three  Acts  by  Anthony  E.  Wills.  Six  males, 
four  females.  Modern  costumes.  Scene,  an  interior,  the  same  for  all 
three  acts.  Plays  a  full  evening.  A  lively,  up-to-date  farce,  easy  to  pro- 
duce and  full  of  laughs  from  beginning  to  end.  All  the  parts  good — no 
small  ones.  German  comedy  characters  for  both  male  and  female,  and 
"  wild  west  "  character  part  and  Englisli  character  comedy.  Strongly 
recommended.  Frice^  2j  cents 

MISS  BUZBY'S  BOARDERS 

A  Comedy  in  Three  Acts  by  Arthur  Lewis  Tubbs.  Five  male,  six  fe- 
male characters.  Costumes,  modern ;  scenery,  two  easy  interiors.  Plays 
two"  hours.  In  a  lighter  vein  than  this  writer's  other  pieces,  but  just  as 
strong,  and  offers  plenty  of  comedy.  All  the  parts  good  ;  four  call  for 
strong  acting.  Several  good  character  parts  and  effective  heavy  character. 
Dialogue  especially  good.     A  sure  hit.  Pricey  2^  cents 

VALLEY  FARM 

A  Drama  in  Four  Acts  by  Arthur  Lewis  Tubbs.  Six  males,  six  females. 
Scenery,  two  interiors  and  an  exterior.  Costumes,  modern.  An  admirable 
play  for  amateurs,  very  sympathetic  in  theme,  and  with  lots  of  good  parts. 
Hetty  is  a  strong  lead,  and  Perry  Deane  and  Silas  great  parts ;  while 
Azariah,  Lizy  Ann  Tucker  and  Verbena  are  full  of  fun.  Plays  a  full 
evening,  Price^  2^  cents 

THE  MISSING  MISS  MILLER 

A  Comedy  in  Three  Acts  by  Harold  A.  Clarke.  Six  males,  five  fe- 
males. Scenery,  two  interiors ;  costumes,  modern.  Plays  a  full  evening. 
A  bright  and  up  to-date  farce  comedy  of  the  liveliest  type.  All  the  parts 
good  ;  full  of  opportunity  for  all  hands.  Easy  to  produce  and  strongly 
recommended.  Good  tone  ;  might  answer  for  schools,  but  is  a  sure  hit  for 
amateur  theatricals.     Professional  stage  lights  reserved.       Pricey  2^  cents 

OUT  OF  TOWN 

A  Comedy  in  Three  Acts  by  Bell  Elliot  Palmer.  Three  males,  five  fe 
males.  Scene,  an  interior,  the  same  for  all  three  acts ;  costumes,  modern. 
Plays  an  hour  and  a  half  A  clever  and  interesting  comedy,  very  easy  to 
produce  and  recommended  for  amateur  performance.  All  the  parts  good. 
A  safe  piece  for  a  fastidious  audience,  as  its  theme  and  treatment  are  alike 
beyond  reproach.  Price ^  25  cents 

GADSBY'S  GIRLS 

A  Farce  in  Three  Acts  by  Bertha  Currier  Porter.  Five  males,  four  fe- 
males. Costumes,  modern  ;  scenery,  an  exterior  and  an  interior.  Plays  an 
hour  and  a  half.  An  exceptionally  bright  and  vivacious  little  piece,  full 
of  action.  Gadsby's  adventures  with  the  fiancees  of  three  of  his  friends 
are  full  of  interest  and  fun.  All  the  parts  good.  Well  suited  for  high 
school  performance.  Price^  23  cents 


THE  CRIMSON  COCOANUT 

And  Other  Plays 

By  Jan  Hay 

This  collection  contains  the  following  titles,  all  of  which  can  be  con- 
fidently recommended  for  amateur  performance  in  schools  or  elsewhere  as 
high  in  tone  and  exceptionally  amusing.  Mr.  Hay  is  well  known  as  a 
novelist  and  literary  man. 

THE  CRIMSON  COCOANUT 

An  Absurdity  in  One  Act.  Four  males,  two  females.  Costumes,  modern  ; 
scenery,  an  interior.  Plays  thirty-five  minutes.  Mr.  Pincher,  of  Scot- 
land Yard,  in  pursuit  of  some  dangerous  anarchists,  entangles  the  lady 
of  his  choice  and  her  father  in  some  humorous  perils,  but  ends  by  cap- 
turing both  the  criminals  and  the  lady.  Author's  royalty  of  j5$5.oo  for 
amateur  performance. 

A  LATE  DELIVERY 

A  Play  in  Three  Episodes.  Three  males,  two  females.  Scene,  an  in- 
terior ;  costumes,  modern.  Plays  forty  minutes.  Bill,  a  middle-aged 
admirer  of  Marjorie,  learns  just  as  he  has  finished  a  letter  to  her  propos- 
ing marriage  that  Tim,  a  young  man,  is  also  in  love  with  her.  He  as- 
sumes her  to  love  his  rival  and  does  not  mail  the  letter.  She  finds  it  on 
his  desk  and  opens  it,  and  learning  the  truth  makes  choice  of  the  older 
and  better  man.     Royalty  for  amateurs,  ^5.00  for  each  performance. 

THE  MISSING  CARD 

A  Comedietta  in  One  Act.  Two  males,  two  females.  Scene,  an  in- 
terior ;  costumes,  modern.  Plays  thiity  minutes.  Two  elderly  admirers 
of  Mrs.  Millington  decide  to  deal  the  pack  to  see  which  shall  first  propose 
to  her,  the  one  who  gets  the  Queen  of  Hearts  to  win.  She  privately  takes 
this  card  out  of  the  pack  and  when  they  have  gone  through  it  in  vain, 
announces  her  engagement  to  another  man.  Royalty  for  amateurs,  $^.00 
a  performance. 

Pricey  all  three  in  one  volume^  ^o  cents 


THE  MARRIAGE  OF  JACK  AND  JILL 

A  Mother  Goose  Entertainment  in  Two  Scenes 

By  Lilian  Clisby  Bridgham 

Forty  children.      Costumes,   wedding ;    no   scenery  required.      Plays 
forty  minutes.     A  Mother  Goose  wedding  and  reception  carried  out  by  the 
smallest  children.  Very  pretty  and  easy  to  get  up  ;  strongly  recommended. 
Not  a  pantomime  merely,  but  calls  for  some  speaking  parts. 
Price,  2j  cents 


Incite*  50  CentjET  €acl^ 


THP  MAfil^TPATP  Pare®  1»  Three  Acts,  Twelve  males,  four 
lUIi  iTlAUi«?li\iili^  females.  Costumes,  modem;  scenery,  all 
interior.    Plays  two  hours  and  a  liaU. 

THE  NOTORIODS  MRS.  EBBSMITH  ^^Zj:^^: 

Costiimes,  modem ;  scenery,  all  Interiors.    Plays  a  full  evening. 

TSfE  PROFLIGATE    i*l*y*^  Four  Acts.  Seven  males,  five  females. 
WUA  ^   Scenery,  three  interiors,  rather  elaborate ; 
costumes,  modem.    Plays  a  full  evening. 

THE  SCHOOLMISTRESS  ^^^^^^e  in  Three  Acts.  Nine  males,  seven 
liu*  k^vuuui^T  u?ii\i^«?  females.  Costumes, modem;  scenery, 
three  interiors.    Plays  a  full  evening. 

THE  SECOND  MRS.  TANQDERAY  ^^/.He^r  ^t 

tumes,  modem ;  scenery,  three  interiors.    Plays  a  full  evening. 

SWFFT  I  AVFNHFR  comedy  in  Three  Acts.  Seven  males,  four 
1JVTI4LI  kf  ILAMfli  females.  Scene,  a  single  interior;  costumes, 
modem.    Plays  a  full  evening. 

THE  TIMES    ^^"'^^^^y  ^  ^^^^  ^^^    ^*^  males,  seven  females. 
Scene,  a  single  interior;  costumes,  modem.    Plays  a 
full  evening. 

THE  WEAKER  SEX    ^°^®<^y  ^  Three  Acts.    Eight  males,  eight 
till  IT  LfAlil^A  JLiA    f Qjjia^ieg     Costumes,  modern ;  scenery,  two 

interiors.    Plays  a  full  evening. 

A  WIFE  WHHOOT  A  SMILE  ^^l^^^T^Z^::. 

modem ;  scene,  a  single  interior.    Plays  a  full  evening. 


Sent  prepaid  on  receipt  of  price  by 

Salter  1$.  TSa&tv  &  Compani? 

No*  5  Hamilton  Piece,  Boston,  Massachusetts 


THIS  BOOK  In  THE  DAr/n"-""^  ™  """"N 
Wl-i-  INCREASE  TO  sScEK.?,"^-  ''"^  ''™*'-"' 
DAY  AND  TO  »™00  ON  TH^  '^j;"^  ^"''TH 
OVERDUE.  "^    SEVENTH    DAY 


on 


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8,  four 
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I.    Cos- 
~veniiig. 

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ivening. 


LD21-l00m-7,'40  (6936s) 


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Syracuse,  N.  Y. 
PAT.JAH.21.1i 


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